


Kinktober 2019

by This_is_your_Heichou_speaking



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Appreciation Of Muscles, Biting, Bondage, Boss/Employee Relationship, Bottom Harry Potter, Bottom Peter Parker, Bunny Boy Harry Potter, Car Sex, Clothing Disparity, Consensual Non-Consent, Corsetry, Crossdressing, Cuckolding, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Exes, Exhibitionism, F/F, Face-Fucking, Female Harry Potter, Female Tom Riddle, Feminization, Fluff and Smut, Fucking Machines, Gags, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle are Siblings, Hate Sex, Hemipenis, Hogtie, Impact Play, Incest, Intercrural Sex, Knotting, Lapdance, Large Cock, Lingerie, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Masturbation, Naga, Object Insertion, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Outdoor Sex, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Riding Crops, Scars, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Magic, Sex Pollen, Sex Work, Shibari, Size Difference, Size Queen Harry Potter, Somnophilia, Stalker Tom Riddle, Teratophilia, Threesome, Top Tom Riddle, Top Tony Stark, Train Sex, Vampires, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-16 14:46:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 31
Words: 27,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20846330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking/pseuds/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking
Summary: Trying out kinktober for the first time, fingers crossed. Kink of the day in the chapter title. Warnings will be tagged, but also mentioned in the beginning of the chapters. All of this is unbetaed.First chapter pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter





	1. Object Insertion

It was a beautiful summer day—it was hot, the sun a bright yellow disk the blue, blue sky, and Harry Potter lay on his bed with his arse up in the air.

He was incredibly warm, but he couldn't be sure what was causing it—the weather, or Tom's weight and presence. His boyfriend's hands felt large on Harry's clothed arse, even though Harry knew Tom's hands were really very average in size. He pressed his fingers firmly into Harry's arse, 

massaging it and letting his fingers trail dangerously high up his shorts, until Harry wanted nothing more than to get rid of the layers between the two of them.

All they'd done until today was kiss each other—not mentioning the time Tom had stuck his hand up Harry's shirt without warning. This was like nothing Harry had ever experienced before, and he knew Tom hadn't either, no matter how experienced he pretended to be.

"_Tom_," he gasped, arching into Tom's fingers. He felt a little too hot, the warmth of the day sticking to his skin and his mind, making him feel loose and lazy in a way that only happened on the hottest middays and afternoons.

Tom took his invitation readily. He hooked his fingers in the elastic of Harry's shorts, and pulled them down.

Harry wasn't wearing any underwear. It wasn't planned, not at all—it had merely been too hot to wear multiple layers, and Tom's visit had come as a surprise anyway, but Harry couldn't help but be glad for it now. He whined when Tom spread his arse again, and pressed his thumb against Harry's hole.

Tom was panting rather heavily behind him, his hands only speeding up. "You have such a pretty arse, darling," he said, and the compliment went straight to Harry's dick.

"Come _ on_, Tom," he urged, though he wasn't sure what he was actually asking for. Tom, on the other hand, didn't seem to be plagued with the same uncertainty. He reached over to Harry's bedside table, and grabbed a bottle of lotion from the top drawer.

"You're so perfect," Tom was saying, his hand now firm on Harry's lower back, keeping him in place as he stroked over Harry's arse. "So good for me. Will you keep still for me, sweetheart?”

Every word Tom's spoke just went straight to his head, making him feel warm in another way all together. He nodded, mouth open and tongue out. Tom leaned down and kissed his hair, and then stroked a line from Harry's hole down, over his perineum, and to the back of his balls. He did it again, slowly, making Harry focus on the way his finger stroked over every bump and curve of him, and then Tom's fingers were wet as he squeezed the lotion into Harry's arse. He pressed his finger in, just the very tip, the movement slick and easy. He dipped in just beyond Harry's rim, but it felt so smooth that Harry imagined he could shove his entire finger in there, and a second, and Harry would only feel the strange stretch and push of it.

Tom played with his hole some more, going a little deeper, dripping more lotion onto his hole until Harry wondered if he hadn't just emptied out the whole thing, and then there was something else pressing against him—something firmer, harder in a way that skin and flesh just wasn't.

"What—” he gasped, surprised.

Tom shushed him, his hand coming down to play with Harry's hair. "It's okay," he said, pushing the thing deeper in, and then some more, so slowly Harry thought it would never end. Every centimeter felt like a mile—something revolutionary, larger than it actually was. "Just be good for me, darling," Tom said, and it felt so _ good_—so new and odd and Harry felt so desirable, that he just moaned out an agreement and arched further into Tom's touch.

Tom pushed the thing—a stick of some sort, deeper in until it couldn't go further. Harry couldn't see, but though it felt huge, he guessed it was actually pretty small. Maybe even the width of a finger, though far smoother and far less flexible. Tom twisted it inside him, at first gently and then faster, moving the tip that stuck out of him up and down and around so that Harry felt like he was opening up a little, or like he was just getting used to it. Tom let his head go, and Harry looked back to see a black Sharpie sticking out of his arse. Tom laughed at the expression on his face, patting Harry's arse and then slapping it a little harder.

"Next time it'll be my dick," he promised.


	2. Shibari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: fem!Tom Riddle/fem!Harry Potter

It was relatively nice out—the very example of a spring day, but Harry still felt a little cold. The dress she wore was beautiful, the bodice black and the skirt a soft pink, but though it was comfortable it did little to protect her from the slight breeze. In fact, it was so thin a dress that it felt a little like someone had set a fan next to her—she could bear it, but it got colder and colder as the seconds passed by, until she could barely focus on anything else.

Of course, there was plenty to distract her. The garden under the balcony she stood on was amazingly fragrant, filling her head with the scent of Tom's garden, but more than that, Harry's attention was fully taken by the robes that rubbed against her skin. It wound tight across her abdomen and around her breasts, the neckline of her dress _ just _low enough that the edge of the red, silk rope could be seen, if only she shifted right. Her legs were tightly bound tightly together so she couldn't move, couldn't walk. So she stood there, in the public eye, glad that the loose nature of her dress did not reveal the way the rope wound around and between her legs, curving around her thighs and leaving her sex bare and uncomfortably wet.

She didn't know how long she'd been standing there, waiting for Tom, but it felt like forever before her girlfriend finally came home.

When she did, she took her time walking through the house—Harry could hear the opening and shutting of cupboards as Tom found herself her habitual snack, heard her walk through the bedroom as she shrugged off her jacket and loosened her tie, and finally stepped out onto the balcony behind Harry.

Her hands went to Harry's arse first. She smoothed over the sheer fabric of the skirt, her fingers searching out the edges of the rope and pressing them into Harry's skin. Harry stayed silent and still, her hands folded on the railing before her, and tried to control herself. Her breath started coming in little gasps, every one of Tom's touches like a revelation to her until she couldn't help but arch back into her.

Tom smacked her arse in reprimand, a silent demand for Harry to stay put. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn't. Not this easily.

And she felt so wet too, that Harry was sure her thighs were soaked by now. Tom let her hands travel to the front of Harry's body, across her waist and then up, so she could cup Harry's breasts in each of her hands. Her sleeves had been folded up to her elbows, Harry noted, exposing her strong forearms. Harry had always loved watching the way Tom's muscles worked under her fair, perfect skin, and it was no different now as Tom pulled her closer, until Harry's back was pressed against her front.

Were you good for me, darling?" Tom murmured. Her voice was low, husky in Harry's ear. She nodded wordlessly in response, and Tom laughed against her cheek, pressing their hips together. Her mouth was painted red, Harry could tell from the corner of her eye. She hoped Tom would leave lipstick marks on her skin, so that later she'd be able to map exactly where Tom had kissed her.

Tom's hands went down, down until they were between her legs and cupping her in one hand. She felt the wetness there, and laughed again like Harry had delighted her. It made her flush with pleasure, that she'd make Tom so satisfied with her.

You're a gift, Harry," Tom said then. She pushed Harry forwards so she was bent over the railing again, and ducked her head under and up Harry's dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might elaborate on this someday 😉


	3. Feminisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is low-key for Zombu7, who's always a horny birb

Harry wasn't sure _ why _he'd let Cedric dress him up like this, but he supposed it had something to do with the way his big, brown eyes seemed so irresistibly adorable when he pleaded with Harry. It had seemed a less drastic idea then too—Harry felt like he hadn't really registered the implications of their plans until he was standing in the middle of a ballroom amongst the elite of Wizarding society, dolled up like a woman to hang off Cedric's arm.

Makeup, Harry thought, was the ultimate kind of magic.

Nobody blinked twice at him. All he had to do was hold onto Cedric and let him steer Harry where he pleased, greet powerful people with a charming smile and then _ keep_ that smile on his face, even as they talked and talked and _ talked_.

Eventually he got bored. The awkwardness he'd felt when he'd walked into the room, and the fear of being discovered had dulled until Harry felt _ confident_. He turned to kiss Cedric on the cheek, and then walked away to get himself a drink and maybe try one of the little, fancy-looking cakes on display.

He'd just picked himself a cupcake with a blue butterfly painted on it when he felt a man press close to his side—almost indecently so. He was tall, much taller than Harry—he could tell without even looking. Harry turned so his back was to the table, and blinked in surprise.

He knew this man. Tom Riddle was a friend of Cedric's, who visited him on a fairly regular basis. Harry hadn't ever interacted with him without Cedric being there too, but he'd always felt a strange, almost _ heated_ energy arise in the room whenever he was present. Like Tom and Cedric had been talking about him, or like they were sharing some sort of inside joke.

It was ridiculous of course. Tom and Cedric had been friends—_ unlikely_ friends, but friends all the same—since before he and Cedric had started dating. Of course they didn't just sit there and spend all their time talking about _ Harry_. But he had to admit the feeling had unnerved him on many an occasion, so much so that usually he only managed to sit with them for about twenty minutes before making his excuses and leaving the room.

It was important now, of course, because Tom Riddle recognised him instantly.

"Well, what _ do _we have here?" he murmured, his voice a dark promise. Harry felt a trickle of trepidation run down his spine, but he didn't turn away.

"It's customary to introduce oneself first, isn't it?"

Tom laughed. "Indeed," he replied. "Tom Riddle, and your service, milady."

"Harry— Harriet," Harry replied, and then, to cover his blunder, stuck his hand out.

Tom grasped it gently, bowing at the waist and, before Harry could do anything, Tom kissed the back of his hand.

He should've expected it, really, but nonetheless it made Harry blush something fierce. Tom let go of his hand, and then put his own on Harry's waist, uninvited. "What's a lovely girl like you doing all alone, then?" he asked. The grin on his lips told Harry he knew _ exactly_ what he was doing, but Harry was somewhat preoccupied with the way his body reacted to Tom.

And not just to Tom, but to being called a _ girl_.

"I should go," he said, his voice embarrassingly breathy. "Cedric must be looking for me."

Tom took hold of his wrist firmly, pulling him close. "Of course he is," he allowed. "Let me take you to him."

And he did. Harry followed behind Tom like a lost duckling, letting him lead Harry into quieter parts of the building until there were no other patrons to be seen. And he might've called bullshit, except that—just as he intended to turn back—he felt Cedric's sure, familiar hands pressing him into the wall.

His boyfriend pressed his mouth to Harry's neck, mouthing at it like he'd been starved of Harry, and pressed his hips into Harry's arse. He was hard, and Harry felt himself becoming aroused too, except Tom Riddle still held him by the wrist. When Harry looked up, he found the man staring back—a smirk on his lips and lust darkening his eyes.

"Cedric," he gasped, "wait, Cedric."

Cedric's hands were on his thighs, pushing up under his dress to lay against bare skin, and he was practically fucking into Harry, even with them both still clothed. "Let me have you, baby girl," he groaned, "don't make me stop."

"_Cedric_," Harry gasped, and then pushed back so he could turn and look at his boyfriend directly. He waited a beat, holding him back, and then let his hands trail down to rest on Cedric's biceps. "Your _ friend _is still here."

In an instant, the desperation in Cedric's eyes turned into something darker, something that thrilled Harry in ways that he was unfamiliar with.

"I just want to show you off, darling," he said. His mouth was wet and swollen, and Harry felt hypnotised.

Cedric's hands went to the straps of Harry's dress, leading them down his shoulders until his neckline was lower, and lower, and low enough that his nipples were exposed. Harry wanted to stop him, to cover himself up and turn away, but he was fascinated with the look in Cedric's eyes, and the lust in Tom's.

"I want to show him your tits, how pretty and cute they are," Cedric said, and like it was a signal, Tom pressed closer. He reached up to toy with Harry's chest, pinching the nipples between his fingers and pressing on them until Harry gasped.

Cedric smiled, and let his hand slip down between their bodies. He lifted the front of Harry's dress, higher, until his stomach and thighs and underwear were bare to see. "I want to show him your clit," Cedric said, laughing when Harry moaned at the way his words went to his cock. "I want to show him your pussy, how you take my cock, how beautifully you beg."

His hand went down the back of Harry's panties to Harry's arse, and he slipped a finger into his loose, slick hole without any effort. "You're so wet, baby girl," Cedric said.

"Won't you be good for us?”


	4. Size Difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Takashi Shirogane/Keith Kogane

He was so small under Shiro.

Keith didn't usually feel very small at all. He was a fountain of force and frantic energy, constantly moving, so strong in his mind and heart and presence, such a good fighter that often he seemed larger-than-life. He was so loud, even when he didn't say anything, that Shiro often forgot how small he really was.

He had his arm around Keith's trim, tapered waist, resting on his belly. There was muscle there—there was muscle everywhere on Keith, on his arms and stomach, clenching and working as Shiro pushed into him. Shiro enjoyed watching them flex, loved the way this thighs went tight and firm as he went into a roundhouse kick or fucked himself on Shiro's cock. Keith was powerful in every sense of the word, but despite spending so much time working out and practicing and perfecting his skills, Keith never grew any wider, or taller, or larger. And next to Shiro, he was even smaller.

Where Keith was contained, Shiro was broad, his biceps were so large that it made Keith's mouth water just to look at them. Sometimes, though he'd never admit it, Keith liked to hold onto them casually as they stood next to each other, or hugged one another. Shiro pretended not to notice, but it was a heady sort of admiration that made him want to both crush Keith in a hug, and hold him down to fuck him.

And Shiro was doing exactly that right them. He held Keith down just as they both liked, one hand holding both of Keith's delicate wrists together, panting and thrusting into him like hulking beast who could think of nothing but a warm, willing hole. His other held Keith up by the waist in a perpetual arch, his face down in the pillow and his arse up so Shiro could fuck him right. His hand pressed into Keith's stomach, so close that he felt his own dick every time he fucked into Keith, sliding in and filling him up until there was no room inside of Keith.

Shiro felt so _ large_ next to him—his cock felt huge, and the way Keith eyed it—like it was the biggest thing he'd ever set eyes on, certainly didn't help. He was so easily positioned, so easily controlled that it felt a little like he was fucking into a toy. Like Keith was just there, _ made _to be fucked by Shiro's cock.

He remembered the first time they'd gotten naked together, when Keith had slipped between Shiro's legs and pulled his cock out before Shiro could say anything. He remembered the look of trepidation in his eyes, and simultaneously, the _ desire_. Keith had been hungry for it then, and he was hungry for it now, clutching at Shiro and panting, moaning " _ Oh, oh, oh_," his eyes rolling back in his head at the feeling of being so full.

Shiro's arms caged him in on either side, his frame so large that Keith probably wouldn't notice if someone else walked into the room. He probably wouldn't care even if someone _ did_.

Arching his back, Keith's hands went from his own hair to Shiro's forearm. "Harder," he gasped, leaving scratches along his Shiro's skin. "Fuck me so hard I won't be able to walk for a week."

Shiro turned him, ignoring the whine when he slowed down, so that he could look at Keith's face. His boyfriend was flushed and pink and sweaty, and he looked ever-so-endearing. The sight of him went straight to Shiro's heart, and went straight to his cock.

"Tell me how you're mine, baby," he said, his voice huskier than he'd expected. "Tell me how much you love my cock."

"You're the best I ever had, Shiro," Keith babbled at him, almost senseless, nearly at the edge of his orgasm. "The biggest I ever had, you do me so _ well_."

His back bowed, his mouth open and pink and wet, and Shiro wanted so bad to kiss him silly.

"Yeah?” He panted, fucking into Keith harder until his boyfriend's entire body was shaking with the force of his thrusts.

Keith whined at him, desperate, spreading his legs as wide as they'd go. "Please Shiro, you've ruined me for anyone else, you're so big inside me, I'm so _ full_—"

His voice went high and broke off when Shiro bit this clavicle, leaving a sure bruise that he'd admire tomorrow. He reached between them and trailed his fingers up Keith's cock, and then tugged on it firmly once, twice, until Keith was coming. Then he turned them into their sides, and kissed the back if Keith's neck as he fucked him slowly and gently. Keith was spent, tired, but he held onto Shiro's arms and let Shirohis body until he too came.

Shiro didn't pull out after. They lay there, Shiro's cock still inside Keith, until Keith fell asleep. Only after did Shiro get up and clean the both of them up, and then slip back into bed to wrap his arms around Keith's lax body. Because, although Keith felt amazing under him, he felt even better asleep in Shiro's arms.


	5. Bondage Furniture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

The wood was hard and cold against Harry's skin, smooth and polished and daunting. In some ways, wood always seemed like a softer, more welcoming material than metal, but it was a different story altogether when Harry was trapped by it.

The room was warm, but some of the lingering cold of winter felt like it had seemed into the corners of the room, because Harry felt perpetually cold. He knew the actual reason for feeling so vulnerable was because he was naked, completely bare from head to toe, but it felt like even the slightest air currents were gusts of wind.

He didn't know how long he'd been there before Tom walked in. He entered from the side of the room and dropped his bag by the wall. Harry could see him coming from the corner of his eye, but it put string on his eyes and neck. It should have been easy, to watch the way Tom sauntered across the tiled floor, but the wood stocks kept his head still, and even then his own hand obscured part of his vision.

Tom wasted no time, and opened the large, floor-to-ceiling storage space right before Harry. It was filled with all kinds of equipment, daunting leather and unyielding metals. Harry was fairly experienced with this sort of stuff, but even so the sight never failed to make him a little nervous.

And Tom knew. He turned and smiled at Harry, warmer than he usually was, and turned to walk around Harry. In his arms he held a chastity belt and something else, though Harry couldn't see what it was. He put his selections on the table Harry knew was to the back of him, and then neared until he stood just behind Harry. He was so close, it felt like he was barely a millimeter from touching Harry's arse. Even so, it felt like a shock of warmth when Tom put his hand on Harry's butt. He patted Harry lightly, rubbing the skin there to calm him down, and then Harry heard the metal as Tom unlocked the belt.

He heard the rustle of fabric as Tom got on his knees. Tom pressed a kiss to the base of Harry's spine, and then tapped a finger on his left ankle. "Up," he said firmly. Harry lifted his leg, and felt the belt around his calf. Tom then tapped the other, and Harry put down his left foot to lift his right.

Tom rose again slowly, and the chastity settled heavy and cool around his cock and balls. He shifted a little, trying to get used to the feeling. It was a little uncomfortable now, but it'd get even worse when he was hard—when the chastity would constrain and _ ache_, and Harry would be unable to do anything but plead for Tom to have mercy.

He felt himself warm at the thought already, and tried to calm down. It was to no avail—Tom had pulled the back of the chastity aside, and was pushing at his hole almost clinically as he checked the give and wetness of Harry's arse.

"Maybe a little more lube," he murmured. His voice was heavy in the quiet. Harry had gotten so used to the sound of his own breath, and the click-clack of Tom's fancy shoes, that his voice so near to Harry's ear fell like a flood on his mind.

"What are you going to do to me?" He asked. He knew he shouldn't—Tom wouldn't tell him, and might maybe even punish him for speaking when he wasn't spoken to whilst in a scene, but he felt too distant already. He wanted to be present, wanted it to be immediate until his mind couldn't _ help _ but go hazy with pleasure and stimulation, and only then let himself drift.

Tom smacked his arse in reprimand, then sighed. "For now, we'll just get you a little wetter," he replied. Harry felt the lube drip onto his arse, and then Tom's fingers were back inside him, tracing first across the rim, and then pushing deep. He gasped, arching his back, and Tom laughed.

"If you're this needy already, how are you going to last the while, darling?"

Harry moaned, but settled down. Tom finished preparing him, and then reached for something else. Harry heard the surface drag—something firm, though he couldn't guess more.

"What is it?" He asked.

Tom hummed, as if considering whether or not to answer Harry's question, and then merely pressed the button. Instantly, Harry's ears were filled with a low buzzing. Tom let the toy rest on his back, and Harry could feel just how long it was, could feel the vibration against his skin. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly wet, and tried to turn to see.

"I _ know_ you'll enjoy this," Tom said. He lifted the toy off Harry's skin, and then pushed the tip into his arse. It was wide—wide enough that Harry could feel the stretch, and it vibrated furiously. He was panting by the time Tom had slid it only halfway, and already his cock was hard and full inside the chastity.

"Tom," he gasped. "Tom, how am I going to _ last _—”

But Tom had pushed it all the way in, and was slipping the softer, back part of the chastity to rest right over Harry's hole. Harry felt so _ full_, felt the movement of the toy inside his arse and against his prostate, so strong he couldn't ignore it or think of anything but the constant stimulation. Tom bent down to kiss his hair, and then turned to drag a chair in front of Harry.

Making himself comfortable, he bent to lift a boom from his bag. "You're going to be good for me, Harry," he said, finding his bookmark and opening it. "I'm going to make sure of it."


	6. Predator/Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Rabastan Lestrange/Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains non-con.

The scent of danger was heavy in the air. He could feel the menacing intentions of the man chasing him even as he ran with all his might, could feel the hunter coming close enough to touch—

His breath was coming in gasps so loud that he wondered if Lestrange wasn't just following the sound of it. Did it matter that he tried to step quietly, or made sure to weave between the trees to hide himself, when it was his very breath that gave him away?

But he couldn't stop—_ wouldn't _stop. Harry was sure safety was just out of his reach, and that he'd get to it, if only he pushed hard enough.

He _ had _to believe that. He knew full well what Lestrange was capable of, and he didn't want any part of it.

But despite his hope, the darkness of the forest seemed endless, and his strength felt more and more finite by the second. His chest and sides burned with exertion, and his mouth felt so dry he could barely swallow. In all this, Lestrange only seemed closer than before, his long legs catching up with Harry as if it was _ easy_.

He made no effort to hide his movements, his steps loud and obvious as he followed. It felt like he was so close that he could reach out and grab Harry if he pleased. So close that Harry could feel his hot breath on his nape. The fear of this was so potent a vision in his mind that, despite all good sense, Harry made the mistake of looking back.

Lestrange _ was_ right behind him, and the slight reduction in his speed was all it took for the man to grab him around his waist. Lestrange picked him up with one arm holding him tight, and before Harry could scream he was face down in the dirt. Lestrange crawled over him, his body strong and heavy and larger than Harry's—whether by genetics or just age, and he held Harry down with ease no matter how he struggled.

He could barely breathe. Various scenarios ran through his mind, each a more striking flash if a vision than the last. He saw himself being tortured, brutalised, even murdered. He saw himself being offered to Voldemort wrapped in a pretty red ribbon, a helpless sacrifice, but the reality was somehow more absurd than that.

It took Harry a few panicked minutes to notice, but eventually he realised that he wasn't being cursed, or hurt. Lestrange had a hand around the back of his neck, holding his head down firmly, and the other pressed into Harry's hip. He only had a few seconds to wonder why when he registered the firm, hard shape pressing into his backside.

Lestrange was hard, and from the way he rolling his hips into Harry, he was eager to sort the issue out.

"No!" Harry shouted, renewing his struggle and scratching viciously at Lestrange's hands. What he heard in reply was cool, chilling laughter that made him want to cry.

Lestrange pulled his trousers down easily, so easily that Harry found himself wondering how many people he'd held down like this. He shouted again, turning his head and baring his teeth, but when he felt Lestrange's bare erection push against the skin of his arse, he stilled.

"Please," he pleaded. "Don't do this, anything but this."

Lestrange was bent so close that Harry could almost taste the smell of him, feel the breath on his skin as he kissed the corner of Harry's mouth.

"Don't do what, fuck you?" He replied. At Harry's tiny nod he laughed, rolling his hips so his erection slid up against Harry's hole.

"Well, there's _ one_ thing I can do," he said. His hand went to Harry's thigh, the other still holding him down. "Let me use your legs, and I won't make you bleed."

Harry swallowed, hard, and then eventually nodded again. What else was he going to do? There was no way out from under Lestrange's grip. He'd never felt so powerless before, and he hated how timid it made him.

Lestrange tsked. "No no, baby boy, you gotta say it," he said. "Say, _ please fuck my thighs, Rabastan_."

So, despite wanting more than anything to spit on the man's face, Harry spread his legs and said, "Please fuck my thighs, Rabastan."

And Lestrange took the invitation gladly, no matter how unwilling it was, and slipped his cock between Harry's thighs.

"Now," he groaned, his voice going lower. "Press them tightly together, because this deal only counts if I'm satisfied."

Harry gasped, trying to ignore the feeling of a warm, slick erection so close to his own, and tried to pretend that it didn't feel good to have a cock between his legs. He pressed his thighs tightly together, biting his lip when Rabastan fucked into them slightly, as if to test the feel of them.

"Good boy," Rabastan said. Harry hoped it would be enough.


	7. Deep-throating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to dreikorg!! 💖🎉

Harry had been thinking about it for a long time before he said anything. And when he did, it was unexpected even for him. But they'd been on the couch, watching a movie, and Harry was horny. He'd curled closer to Cedric so his legs were wrapped around Cedric's left thigh, and before he knew it, his hands were wandering.

He hadn't even been aware of it really. Cedric hadn't done more than groan and relax into the leather, and it was so warm under the blanket that a little bit of lazy arousal was natural. Harry felt himself shifting against Cedric's thighs without even realising it, and his hands explored the shape of Cedric's hips, his thighs, and then, his cock. He slid his hands into Cedric's sweatpants, let himself feel the weight and feel of his cock like it was an afterthought, and Cedric didn't stop him.

He'd been thinking about Cedric's cock for quite a while before then too, had been imagining the moments when he was between Cedric's thighs—except they always went a little further in these fantasies, Cedric a little bolder than he actually had been. He trailed his fingers along the length of Cedric's cock and thought about its weight in his throat, and didn't realise he'd said so until Cedric's hand was on his wrist.

"What?" He asked. Harry stilled and looked at him, and it felt a little like he was coming out of a daze.

"What?" He repeated.

Cedric frowned, but it was less like he was upset and more like he was unbearably curious. "What did you just say, Harry? What did you want?"

And Harry felt his face go warm, and felt the urge to look elsewhere in embarrassment. Then he took a deep breath, his hand still around Cedrics cock, and tried to ignore the way his mouth felt wet and hungry.

"I _ said_, I want your cock in my throat."

His words made Cedric go a little pink in the cheeks. Harry was sure that, if Cedric was more naked, Harry would see his shoulders turn equally as pink, and it made him smile unconsciously. He leaned closer, and Cedric slid his arm up from around Harry's waist until his hand rested along Harry's nape.

"How deep do you want me?" He asked, his voice husky. He pressed his thumb into the space just under Harry's jaw, and said, "This deep?"

Harry shook his head, swallowing hard. Cedric's touch was light and yet felt heavy, his grip kind but firm.

Cedric slid his thumb down, barely an inch, until it glided over the shape of his Adam's Apple. "This deep?" He repeated, drawing gentle circles around the most minute movements of his throat.

And again, Harry shook his head.

Cedric's cock was hardening under his touch, but even so Harry could only focus on the way Cedric was touching him. It felt all encompassing.

Cedric's thumb slid down some more. It settled in the hollow of his throat, and he pressed—just slightly, but enough to make Harry gasp.

"Perhaps," he murmured, you'd like it _ here_." And finally Harry let himself touch Cedric’s wrist.

"I want all of you," he whispered, like it was a dirty secret, like it was shameful. "I want as much as you'll give me, as much as I can take, and then _ more_."

His boyfriend's eyes went dark, like a jar of honey when you looked into it from above. He leaned closer to Harry until they might as well have been kissing, and promised him; "I'll give you all of it. Don't you fret, darling boy."

The next thing Harry knew, he was being laid on the bed upstairs with incredible care. Cedric positioned Harry so that his head hung off the edge, placing a pillow under his neck for support, and then leaned down to kiss Harry properly.

Harry's mouth was wet, and the kiss was messy—their lips slid across each other, slick and hot, until Harry could barely breathe. And then Cedric was standing up, and Harry watched upside down as he dropped his trousers onto the floor.

He was fully hard by now, his cock red and dripping. He walked closer, his hand on his hip, until the tip of his cock was pressed to Harry's lips.

And Harry wasted no time in opening his mouth, licking at the tip in a way he hoped would entice Cedric to go faster. Indeed, as he'd hoped, Cedric groaned, and began steadily to push his cock into Harry's mouth.

He stopped a few seconds in, when Harry's mouth was full, and waited for him to get used to it. And then, when Harry's breath was even and steady, he began pushing in again.

It felt like Cedric's cock went on forever. Harry felt so full that he was sure he'd burst, and then Cedric would push in some more—as if discovering new parts of Harry. His jaw and tongue ached, and for a few moments he'd found difficulty in breathing. But then Cedric would stop and run his fingers through Harry's hair, shushing him, "You can take it, sweetheart," and Harry would ease himself into the feeling until it felt like he'd always been this full.

Objectively speaking, it wasn't exactly _ pleasurable_ to Harry. There was an element of hunger, of _ lust_, to which the only appropriate solution seemed to be to stuff himself full, but mostly he loved the way Cedric moaned at the feel of him, and the soft praise he showered over Harry when he did well.

His murmuring was an ever-present background to Harry's own breathing, a soft litany of "yes, so good, you take me so well Harry," and "_ good boy_, you're so perfect for me." It made him feel unbearably warm and _ loved _except that it also pooled in his cock, and felt like electricity in his veins.

He was good at this. Cedric was pleased with him.


	8. Daddy Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Sirius Black/Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend this was in time (///Σ///)

If anyone asked, he'd come to visit his dad. And it wasn't really wrong to say he _was_—he'd just seen his father, given him the lunch he'd forgotten that morning and kissed him on the cheek as he waved goodbye. But Harry would be lying if he said that it was the _only_ reason he'd taken the time to come to the police station.

And his reason sat in the office across the hall.

Sirius didn't even look up when he entered. He was, surprisingly, hard at work typing up his report, and Harry was treated with the rare sight of Sirius seriously concentrating. His eyebrows were close together, his eyes focused and sharp as his fingers flew across the keyboard in practiced sweeps, and for a second Harry just stood and _watched_.

And then, barely registering that someone was in the room, Sirius waved his hand dismissively at the corner of his desk. "Leave it there," he ordered, still not looking up. Harry strode closer, and promptly slid himself onto Sirius' lap.

"Leave it _where_, daddy?"

Sirius blinked owlishly at Harry for a second, as if surprised to see him there. To be fair, he had every reason to be—Harry didn't make a habit of visiting the station, and even then they'd kept their relationship very much secret. For obvious reasons.

But it had been so long since he'd seen Sirius that Harry felt bold and uncharacteristically reckless. That did not bode well for either of them, because although Harry too could be thoughtless and brash, he was not nearly as bad as Sirius.

So although Sirius really should have discouraged him, instead the man pushed his laptop to the side and sat Harry on his desk.

"What a lovely surprise, baby boy," he grinned, curling his hands around Harry's hips. "Did I win something for working so hard all day?"

Harry laughed, reaching for Sirius' tie and pulling him closer. "Sure," he replied, slinging one arm over Sirius' shoulder. "What do you want from me?"

Their mouths were so close, but Harry wanted Sirius to kiss him first. And Sirius understood easily in that way he had, like he could read his every thought and desire just by looking at Harry's face. It should be terrifying, how easily Sirius read him, but although he was older and more mature, it felt more like friendship with a healthy dose of romance and sex than a matter of insecure, awkward relationships. He felt like he'd known Sirius forever—there was an ease in their relationship that came strongly from really _liking_ each other.

Sirius made him feel so warm, so affectionate, like a warm, fluffy jumper on a freezing cold day. There was never a tube when he disliked his company, even when was felt too high-energy for Harry.

And he was so _attractive_—Sirius had his long hair tied back in a loose, easy bun, a few strands loose enough to frame his face. His face was shadowed enough so you couldn't really call it a beard, but it was definitely more than just a little evening stubble. Why did it look so good on Sirius, to seem like he had just _forgotten_ to shave for a few days?

Sirius smiled at him, teeth beautifully white and straight, and then kissed the breath out of him. Harry felt the attraction like hot chocolate in his stomach. He kissed back eagerly, and before he knew it, his legs were wide and and wrapped around Sirius' waist, and his hands were fumbling with Sirius' trousers.

"Please, daddy," he murmured, trying to find the right angle to curl his fingers around Sirius' cock.

Sirius' mouth had gone down to his neck, where he was sucking a mark into the skin dangerously high. "What do you want, honey?" He asked.

Harry moaned, finally managing to get his hand around Sirius' erection. "I want to touch you so bad," he said. "I want you to touch me too, please."

Sirius wasted no time. He undid Harry's jeans, slipped them down so he could take Harry's cock out, and then pressed them together. It felt so hot, so slick and _good_ as they slid against each other, and Sirius' hand was strong and sure where it held Harry's over both their cocks.

"I'd fuck you," Sirius was murmuring, his face flushed and his eyes dark. "I want to fuck you so bad, baby boy, but this'll have to do.'

Harry nodded, dazed with the pleasure, and then bent to bite Sirius' shoulder to keep quiet. His father was just across the hallway, might at any moment come to see his best friend, and Harry wanted to be worried. But Sirius' rough chin left marks against his collarbone, and his hand was perfectly tight and fast and wet, that Harry couldn't concentrate on anything but _ him_.

He felt such intense affection for Sirius, and it only made him want to press himself closer.


	9. Dubious Consent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

Tom hadn't even realised Harry had gone quiet. He'd been so immersed in the softly glowing flora he was inspecting that he'd tuned out Harry's constant chatter to the extent that he didn't register when it had stopped.

But eventually, a sense of foreboding came over him, and he turned to check on Harry. They were, after all, in a previously unexplored jungle—a million things could go wrong here.

Harry had his back turned to Tom, but he was completely still, and didn't react when Tom called his name. Feeling, Tom walked and turned around his boy to see his hands were splayed open before him, covered in some type of fine, pale-orange powder. It glittered in the afternoon sun. Tom had never seen anything like it before.

"Why aren't you wearing your gloves?" Tom demanded, but Harry barely twitched. Tom looked up into his face, and found Harry dazed—mouth lax and eyes lost somewhere Tom couldn't reach him. He looked like he should be unconscious, except that he still stood.

Tom was becoming seriously concerned now. He cursed Harry's carelessness silently, wary of nearing. After all, anything here could be potentially dangerous or even deadly. Wasn't it common sense to protect oneself accordingly?

But Tom's spells revealed nothing about Harry's current condition, and when a few more minutes went by, Tom felt he had no other choice.

He stepped closer, and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Immediately, Harry's eyes turned to him. His pupils had dilated almost to an inhuman degree—like he was drugged or something. The green was barely visible, and it made Harry look more feral than even the high-pitched whine that escaped his lips.

His mouth moved, but no words came out, and Tom turned him so he was facing Harry. "What's wrong?" He demanded. He didn't like not knowing what to do. Tom was the sort who usually had an answer, even if it wasn't a definite solution, but this type of scenario was something completely new.

Even so, he took the chance to take a same of the strange powder, and then aimed a cleaning spell at Harry's hands. Only after did he grab Harry by both shoulders, shaking him slightly.

And Harry fell forward onto Tom's chest.

He was warm, Tom realised—even warmer than would be expected with the weather, and he was making soft, constant and wordless noises against Tom's chest. He was moving too—little motions of his hips that Tom didn't really understand until he felt the hard, wet shape of Harry's erection where it rented his trousers.

He stepped back immediately, looking down to see that Harry was already hard enough that there was a wet patch on the fabric, and suddenly it clicked.

And of course, Tom wanted to take him back to camp, and wanted to be the friend and colleague he was meant to be and just take care of Harry. But he'd wanted Harry for so _long_, and it seemed ridiculous to deny himself this now.

"Oh darling," he muttered. Harry was tearing at both Tom's clothes and his own, desperate to touch skin it seemed, and before long he stood naked and flushed before Tom. Like a gift, a temptation in human skin that was so enticing that even the most moral man would find it difficult to deny. And Tom had never been particularly moral.

He watched Harry get on his knees eagerly, his mouth open and panting, his arse up and, to Tom's delight, _wet_. He laughed, and before Harry could blink had his own cock out.

He knelt down over Harry, pressing his cock to Harry's arse and sliding the tip against his hole. "Do you want to, you sweet boy?" He asked, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. "Do you want me to please you?"

Harry whined and pushed back into Tom, and Tom pressed his cock to Harry's hole. He pushed in just enough, so the rim started to stretch around the very tip, and then pulled back again

"You'd let me take you just like this wouldn't you?" He continued. "No fingers, just the wet from whatever you touched. But I want you to remember this, Harry, and I want you to remember how I was _kind_ to you."

He bent down to kiss the top of Harry's spine, and smirked against this skin when Harry thrust backwards again.

"I want you to remember how desperate you were, and how I, being merciful, granted you your wish.


	10. Biting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter, Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of horrory today (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

Cedric wasn't really the type for one-night stands, or even the sort to pick up people he barely knew. Not that there was anything wrong with casual partners, but the idea didn't appeal to Cedric very much. He tended to get attached too easily, but more than that, attraction usually came hand-in-hand with affection for him.

And yet, as he sat with his friends, he thought he might be discovering something new about himself this evening.

The man was beautiful, but more than that he moved like he was putting on a show. And when Cedric stood, despite himself, the man looked straight at him, and it felt like he was performing just for Cedric.

Then he turned, and weaved through the dancing bodies like they were water. Cedric watched his smooth, practiced walk out of the building, and followed him without a word like a hapless child behind the Pied Piper.

He found the man in an alley, leaning casually against the wall and watching as Cedric walked closer. Cedric fancied he'd been waiting for him, and practically fell upon the man. His hands went to the man's face and hair, and he moved closer until their chests were touching.

"What's your name?" The man asked him.

He answered before he'd even thought it through, like it was an unstoppable reaction. "Cedric Diggory." And then, despite the way his attention was overwhelmed by the man's bared clavicle, "What's yours?"

The man seemed surprised, but then he smiled wide, as if feeding had pleased him. "You can call me Harry, Cedric Diggory," he purred. Something about his smile seemed odd to Cedric, but try as he might he couldn't pinpoint what it was. And then Harry's mouth was on his own, and Cedric forgot all about his brief moment of unease.

Harry's mouth tasted intoxicating, like nothing Cedric had ever felt. He barely registered as Harry stripped them both of their trousers, only that suddenly he was jumping and wrapping his legs around Cedric, and that his cock was touching bare skin.

He moaned loudly, and Harry grinned against his mouth. "Fuck me," he murmured, pushing down fruitlessly. Cedric felt like this was all moving too fast, felt like this was completely unlike himself, but Harry's eyes were hypnotising, and his skin felt like salvation.

So he reached down to steady himself, and almost fell when Harry slid down his cock in one smooth slide.

Their fucking was animalistic, fast and hard and messy, and Cedric felt hungrier than he'd ever felt before. He'd never had sex like this, had never fucked someone he'd barely talked to in a dirty alley, but Harry overwhelmed him. All he could focus on was his wet and warmth, and the taste of his mouth, and the secrets in his eyes.

He neared his orgasm, faster than he had since he'd been a teenager. It might have been embarrassing, except that there was no room for shame with someone like Harry—only feeling. So he fucked faster, distantly aware that he must look a mess and too full of pleasure to care when—

A loud cry escaped his lips, and overwhelming pain overcame his senses. For a minute he couldn't think, and then he registered only that it came from the place where his left shoulder and neck met. Where Harry's dark head bent over his skin.

Was he _biting_ Cedric?

He felt horrified, but though he wanted nothing more to shove Harry off and run, he felt too weak, and Harry felt too powerful. His slim build had convinced Cedric he'd be stronger, but his hands were as firm as iron bars, and Cedric felt frozen with horror.

Harry moaned against his neck. Cedric could hear the slick sound of _something_, but he refused to think about what it was. Harry didn't seem to care about the effect it was having on him, only fucked himself on Cedric even as he bit into his skin.

Cedric wondered how he was still standing.

And then, from the corner of his eye, movement. He tried to turn his head, to scream, and Harry seemed to sense his distraction. But when he lifted his head, he didn't seem worried. Instead, his beautiful mouth was stretched into a too-wet, too-red smile, and the way he tilted his head back only showed his ease.

"What a mess," the newcomer said, his voice charming even though Cedric couldn't see his face on the shadows. "Eating and fucking at the same time? You know better, darling."

Harry pouted, his eyes sparkling, and it was only now that Cedric realised they'd never looked at him with anything but cold hunger.

"I was _horny_, Tom," he replied. "You've been neglecting me."

'Tom' neared, and his face was just as handsome as his voice implied, except he had none of the humanity Harry managed to pretend at. He looked contemplatively at Cedric, and his mouth stretched into a slow, sharp grin. Once again, Cedric felt like there was something _off_, but this time he identified it almost immediately.

The man's canines were as sharp as daggers.

"You picked a nice one," he told Harry, still not looking away from Cedric. "We might have to keep him a while."


	11. Corsetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

"Is this loose enough?"

The silk was smooth and dark against his skin, soft and yet firm enough to hold his chest in place. Or rather, the steel it covered was strong enough to hold Harry in place, but it was the silk that Tom pulled tightly together at his back.

He tried to breathe in, and found it was just hard enough to make it difficult. Not so tight that he would faint, but tight enough that he'd feel it. He nodded.

Tom took his time tying the corset off, pulling it's laces and knotting them so they both did the job and looked pretty doing it. Then he just stood there for a long moment and appreciated the way Harry's skin showed through the gaps, paler in comparison to the black. He ran his finger down them, and it felt odd to Harry. Tom's touch felt intermittent, like he was just pressing into the knobs of Harry's spine one by one rather than sliding his hand down in one smooth motion. It made him shiver.

"You're so beautiful like this," Tom told him. "Back straight, chin up, you look so proud."

He walked around Harry's body, slowly, as if surveying art from every angle before coming to a final verdict.

"You look so proud," he said again. "But I pull the strings, don't I."

There was some sort of glee in his voice. Harry wasn't surprised at it—of course Tom would find pleasure in the idea of control, of power over Harry, even if it was in house much lower Harry _allowed_ him. But he didn't say anything, and instead let Tom manipulate him to his knees.

It was harder to breathe like this. His back was forced straight, so even the slightest bend put pressure on his chest and his lungs. And Tom stood so close, his legs wide, and Harry knew exactly what he wanted.

Still, he waited. In the same way that Harry could predict Tom's actions and desires, he could predict what would happen if he acted on them without a clear cue. Tom seemed both pleased and disappointed by this, like the idea of having trained Harry so well delighted him, but he'd also have liked to punish Harry a little.

His fingers threaded themselves into Harry's hair, and pushed his face firmly into Tom's crotch. "I thought about this," he told Harry, and then moaned loudly when Harry mouthed eagerly at the shape of his cock, even through the fabric. He pushed harder into Harry's mouth a few times, like he couldn't stop himself, and then abruptly moved away, leaving Harry unbearably warm, mouth wide open and gasping.

He moved back fast, sitting himself down in a way that may have looked smooth to an outsider, but was positively clumsy to anyone who knew Tom Riddle. Once he'd settled, he spread his legs wide, and undid his fly.

"Come here, darling," he ordered, slipping his cock out and stroking it roughly. "I thought about letting you do as you please, you know. Thought about leaning back and letting you suck me off at your own pace—you're so good at it, after all. But I changed my mind."

He watched Harry approach on his knees, his waist seeming even smaller from this angle, with hooded eyes. His cock was hard and large and perfect, red and flushed in his grip. Harry's mouth went straight for it, hungry, but Tom's hand was in his hair again, holding him back so his lips _just_ touched the tip.

Tom grinned at the sight, and rubbed the tip across the bottom lip of Harry's open mouth. "You're going to sit pretty, baby boy," he said, "and just take what I'm going to give you. I'm going to fuck you proper. Isn't that just how you like it?"

Harry felt flushed and hot and dazed, the corset making it hard to breathe deeply to calm down or to think clearly. All he wanted to do was to stay where Tom put him, do as Tom told him, and be praised for it. "I like it," he replied, and then licked at the top of Tom's cock.

Then he opened his mouth wide, his eyes on Tom's, his hands folded neatly on his own lap, and Tom groaned. "That's right," he said, pushing Harry's head down onto his cock. "You were made for this."


	12. Consensual Non-Consent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

Harry shivered and pulled his coat tighter around him. The nights had gotten colder recently, and Harry had been too lazy to get out his heavier winter coat. He was mildly regretting not taking the time to now, but he knew he'd probably still forget to fish it out of the back of his closet for tomorrow.

Nervously, he pulled out his phone and checked it. Nothing. He tapped his foot, paced up and down the small stretch of pavement, and then checked it again.

Still nothing.

It took only five minutes, but in the cold the wait felt like forever. It was all forgotten when he felt his phone vibrate against his skin though. '_Ready_,' his screen read. He felt a frisson of excitement start to warm him, tentative, the feeling of taboo still dampening his eagerness a little, but he was fast starting to appreciate that there was nothing wrong with him.

And he couldn't deny how much he was looking forward to this.

Slippin the phone back in his pocket, Harry started walking. The roads were silent and dark, the kind of dark where streetlights felt like tiny havens, and where shadows seemed almost too dark to see. Despite the lack of traffic, it didn't take long for a car to pull up beside him. A familiar car, it's rear corner still slightly scuffed from what Harry had done to it a week ago. He put the thought out of his mind, and got into character.

"Need a ride?" The man was handsome, his eyes dark and his hair perfectly coiffed to the side. He smiled charmingly at Harry, so handsome that it made him flush.

Harry smiled back as if he couldn't help himself. "I couldn't possibly, mister," he replied. He hadn't stopped or sped up, so the man had to continue driving along at a snail's pace to keep up.

"Call me Tom," the man said. "Where are you headed?"

Harry told him where, and Tom grinned. "Great," he said. "I'm going the same way." And then, when Harry still seemed unsure, "Aren't you cold?"

Harry sighed, and gave in. Tom stopped the car, and Harry quickly climbed into the passenger seat. The inside of the car was so much warmer, even though Tom had rolled the window down to talk to him, that Harry immediately felt more relaxed.

That was, until he noticed they were going on a direction that seemed unfamiliar to him.

At first he told himself Tom was taking some shortcut, or maybe he just was just familiar with another route. But they were steadily heading into the more abandoned part of town, and Harry found himself growing more and more uneasy.

"This isn't the way," he murmured eventually. Tom smirked, but didn't reply or react otherwise. Harry waited a beat, then two, but when Tom didn't clear things up he repeated himself.

"We're going the wrong way," he said, louder this time. "Where are you taking me?"

Tom smiled wider. "Oh don't worry, I'm definitely taking you home." And then he was pulling into some abandoned alley, the headlights the only illumination. They cast Tom's face in strong, sinister shadows, making him look even more terrifying than Harry imagined he'd look in the day.

"Why are we here?" Harry asked, and wanted to curse himself for how small his voice sounded.

Tom leaned back in his chair, reaching down between his own legs. "Did you think I was just going to drive you home for free?"

He slipped his cock out, half-hard and rapidly filling. Harry swallowed nervously, intimidated by the size, shook his head.

"Please, no," he whispered, but it way like Tom hadn't even heard him.

"Get to work, boy," he ordered. He was stroking his cock slowly, getting it fully hard, and spread his legs to get comfortable.

When Harry didn't move, his gaze turned from good-natured to cold, and he reached the other hand to grab the back of Harry's neck. In a sudden, aggressive movement, he'd shoved Harry down so that his cheek was pressed to Tom's cock, and then held him there even through his struggles. His grip felt like steel, and the fear in Harry's chest felt painful. He felt his eyes sting with desperation. What else would this man be capable of?

"Get sucking," Tom said, his fingers tightening around the back of Harry's neck. "And don't you dare bite, or you'll find out how sorry I can make you."

He had no choice. He was all alone, somewhere he didn't recognise with no other way to get home. So, tearfully, Harry took the man's cock in his mouth, and began to suck.


	13. Sex Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

The club was exclusive, a place for the wizarding elite to both discuss politics and more…. _shady_ business alike. Tom remembered the first time he'd stepped into the establishment, when he'd been elated at being included in the cream of the crop, and had barely been able to control himself.

Back then, the patriarchs of rich families had looked at him like he was something the cat dragged in. Today, they flocked to him eagerly, vying for his attention like they'd come here just to catch a glimpse of him. The notoriety was well deserved—he was, after all, the most fearsome man in the country.

But despite the connections and business and attention, he couldn't help but admit—even if just to himself—that he'd really only come for one person. He waved a hand impatiently at Malfoy, who'd been talking his ear off about something or another. The man immediately fell silent. Tom moved further into the building, barely greeting the guards, his eyes searching for—

There. Dressed in fishnet stockings and booty shorts, a black vest the only thing covering his upper body, he stood behind the bar. His face was shadowed, but when Harry looked up, Tom saw that he had white bunny ears perched on top of his head. They looked both endearing, and oddly stirring.

Shifting slightly, Tom made sure Harry was looking at him. When the boy smiled at him, he finally turned and walked deliberately into one of the private rooms. It didn't take long—barely five minutes later, Harry was sashaying through the same door, a tray balanced skillfully on one hand. Tom was already in the large, leather armchair that sat in the middle of the room. He leaned back to watch Harry come close, ignoring where Tom had deliberately left his jacket on the floor.

He knew the game.

"Good evening," Harry said. He set the tray down, and then bent to pour Tom his regular brandy. It made sense, of course, that his order was remembered. Tom would have accepted no less, when he was the most important regular they had here, but even so it pleased him that Harry remembered. Perhaps it was because he liked to imagine Harry cared, or that he liked Tom enough to notice what Tom's habits were, but those were sentimental thoughts that would never leave the safety of his mind.

He took the glass gladly when Harry handed it to him. He looked Harry up and down slowly, taking a leisurely sip as he did, admiring the strong shape of his collarbone and the strong muscles of his arms and thighs. Harry was beautiful, all golden, smooth skin, and Tom couldn't help the twitch of interest his cock gave at the sight of him. But not yet.

Taking another sip, he gestured towards the jacket he'd abandoned to the floor. "Pick it up for me, darling," he said.

Harry smirked, like he could see right through Tom's request. Which was fine because Tom wasn't exactly trying to be subtle. He nodded at Tom, said "Of course, sir," in that soft voice he knew got Tom excited. He lived it when Harry played naive and innocent like this, like he didn't know what he was doing to Tom.

It made Tom want to ruin him.

Harry turned for him, slow enough so Tom could appreciate him from every angle. The back of his vest plunged indecently low, Tom noticed, so low that he could see everything—from the strong muscles of his back right down to the dip right above Harry's arse. And just below that, innocent and stark against the black fabric, rested a small ball of white fluff. '_To go with the ears_,' Tom thought, transfixed and unwilling to admit it.

And then Harry bent over. His shorts were already tiny, but line this it seemed Tom could almost look up the legs all the way to his arse. His skin looked even more beautiful, even more appetising covered in the stockings, so that Tom wanted nothing more than to bite them and suck on the skin there, until it was covered in bruises and marks from his mouth.

Already his trousers felt a little tight, so Tom spread his legs, watching. Harry took his sweet time, his arse in the air, and rose back up onto his feet slowly and fluidly. When he came back to Tom, he wasted no time crowding close, getting on his knees between Tom's legs.

"It's late, Mr Riddle, and you looked stressed," he purred, reaping a hand on Tom's upper thigh. "What can I do to help?"

Tom pursed his lips, as if in deep thought. "What are you willing to do, darling?" He asked. 

Harry smiled. "I'll do anything, sir," he replied, and his voice felt like sin.

But though he said _anything_, Tom knew the limits still applied. He wanted so badly to ask Harry to open his mouth for him, or to turn around and sir on his cock. But he couldn't, he _couldn't_, so he asked for the next best thing.

"Maybe a pretty dance from a pretty boy?"

Harry's eyes went dark, and he licked his lips suggestively. "Of course," he murmured.

He stood back up again, and Tom couldn't help but marvel at the tanned flow of his skin under the gold lights, the scent of his perfume, the way his eyes seemed almost luminescent. His lips were painted a soft, glittery pink, and it made Tom want to ruin him. But he kept himself under control, and watched as Harry began to sway.

There was music, something dirty with a strong heat, but all Tom could focus on was Harry. His hips moved smoothly from side to side, almost snake-like, and his eyes on Tom's felt almost hypnotising. If Tom hadn't been an incredibly strong Occlumens, he'd have been afraid he was under a spell, but as it was he could tell he wasn't.

Harry was just that good, and Tom was just as obsessed.


	14. Orgasm Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

His limbs ached deliciously, like they might after a heavy workout or some overzealous stretching. He couldn't help but shift from side to side, trying to get comfortable even as he knew there was no ease to be found here.

Most of all though, he was focused on Tom's heavy gaze on him.

Tom could do anything to him, but he didn't. Not yet. He chose to watch Harry, so intent that Harry could practically feel his eyes burning patterns into his shins, his back, his arse. Again he shifted, trying to get used to the heavy weight of the plug inside of him, and then suddenly there was warmth all along his back.

He whined, would have said something, except the gag in his mouth prevented it. Tom felt hot against his skin, and Harry could feel him push between Harry's legs eagerly. His hands roamed where Harry's wrists were tied together, the rope that criss-crossed across his arms, the patterns that held his legs folded in half in a hogtie.

He pulled at the length of rope that tied his hands to his feet, and Harry couldn't help but gasp. It hurt, but in a way that felt more like a deep ache than a sharp pain. It felt like an ache he could ease into, until it almost felt _good_.

Tom's hand came down on his back, and the other went down between his legs. He slipping the plug out of Harry's stretched, wet hole, pushing it back in a few times, like he was fascinated with the sight. Knowing Tom, that exactly why.

Before Harry knew it—before he'd _expected _it, Tom was pushing something softer and warmer into him, something a little larger. He thrust into Harry with no extra preparation. They'd worked Harry open before Tom had tied him, but there was something about the fantasy of being constantly _ready_ for Tom that made him moan, that made arousal burn hotter in his stomach.

And then Tom was fucking him, hard and steady, and Harry lamented the steel around his cock.

It wasn't his idea, but Tom had seemed fascinated with it, and Harry had been curious enough to try. Now, he cursed himself—it would be one thing to be kept on the edge, to have his orgasm delayed by Tom, and they'd _done_ that before. He'd liked it.

It was another thing altogether knowing the orgasm would never come. He was just here for Tom's pleasure, for Tom to use his tied up, open body as he pleased, with no regard for Harry's own needs. His cock ground into the bedsheets with Tom's every thrust, but Harry already knew he wouldn't be able to come from just that, even if he _hadn't_ had a cock ring on.

But although he was aroused and frustrated, it was somehow incredibly pleasing to know he was just there for Tom. There was nothing complicated about this, and not chasing after his own orgasm felt freeing in a way he was still new to. He didn't have to worry about anything, because Tom would take care of it all.


	15. Knotting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Remus Lupin/Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're half-way bby 😉

"Push it in, push it in," Harry gasped. He was sweating, lost in the feeling of his impending orgasm, but he felt surprisingly focused. Remus' breath in his ear was hot and heavy, and he was fucking into Harry like a wild animal, but even then his rhythm stuttered a little at Harry's words.

"What," he gasped, not really a question. It felt like he was slowing down, or maybe coming back to reality a little, and Harry didn't want that. He wanted Remus lost in passion, unburdened by fear or hesitation. Pushing back into his lover, he clenched his arse, and basked in the low groan that came from Remus.

"Give it to me," he said again. "Come on." He didn't stop fucking back onto Remus, and Remus sped up again, snapping his hips into Harry so hard he could feel the odd bumb at the base against the rim of his arse.

It was growing, slowly but surely, as Remus' orgasm neared. Harry had wanted to feel that knot inside him, stretching him wide for almost as long as he'd been having sex with Remus, and he was determined to have it today.

He turned, suddenly, so he was looking into Remus' face. It took a little maneuvering, but it was nothing Harry hadn't attempted before. Once they were facing each other, he reached up and wrapped his arms and legs tightly around Remus, and pulled him into a deep kiss.

His chin and cheeks were rough, scratchy with day-old stubble. It was the day before the full moon, and Remus often seemed to be both paradoxically bold and aggressive, and neglectful towards his regular activities and this time. It was the time when Harry was fucked the hardest, when he was treated the roughest, and Harry felt almost guilty admitting his much he liked it.

He loved his gentle, kind Remus, with eyes like chocolate and a mouth full of love and praise. But he couldn't deny that a Remus who took what he wanted, when he wanted, also did something undeniable for him.

Of course, just because the full moon was near didn't mean Remus had lost all sense of himself. He was still afraid of hurting Harry, and therefore he was very much afraid of _knotting_ Harry.

But he wanted it, and he knew Remus wanted it, so was there any reason _not_ to?

He kissed Remus deep and slow, and when he seemed sufficiently distracted, he flipped them over. Remus immediately arched, trying to wrestle Harry back beneath him, but Harry wasn't a pushover either. He held Remus' wrists down, bent low so their noses were touching, and then bore down on the cock inside him.

"Harry, Harry, you'll hurt yourself, I'll _hurt_ you!" And Remus genuinely sounded worried, his eyes going a little clearer and a little lighter, and that was not what Harry wanted at all.

He relaxed around the beginnings of Remus' swelling knot, moaning slightly, and then smiled reassuringly at Remus. "Don't worry," he whispered, his voice husky with arousal. "I've been practicing."

The statement shut Remus up, and Harry could see how much he liked the idea in the sudden show of teeth, the widening of his pupils, the growl beginning in his chest. But he still seemed concerned, even though he clearly wanted nothing more than to fuck Harry silly, so Harry kissed his nose affectionately.

"Trust me?"

And Remus did.


	16. Threesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter/Tom Riddle Sr

"Thomas," Harry whispered, trying to control his laughter. He had his hands braced on Thomas' shoulders, and was pretending valiantly at pushing him away, but Thomas wouldn't let up. He smothered Harry's face neck in kisses, pushing his hands up Harry's shirt almost aggressively.

"Your son might be home," Harry tried again, gasping. It felt so good, so freeing, to be able to tumble about with the usually proper Thomas Riddle (the senior), but he was also aware of the fact that Thomas had a son around his age.

A son who, Harry had gathered through their dinner conversation, had just recently arrived home from University up in Scotland. "Just for the summer," Thomas had said, "but we'll have to be quiet."

And now he was mouthing at Harry's collarbone, his slight beard scratchy on Harry's skin, and Harry couldn't control the sounds he made. He tried to shut himself up, clapping his hands over his mouth when a loud moan escaped involuntary, but to no avail.

"Oh, it's too late for that now," a voice said from further down the darkened hallway. Harry froze, his eyes trying to see the figure who stood in shadow. To his surprise, Thomas _still_ didn't let up, his hands now pinching at Harry's nipples so hard he gasped again.

"Stop," he moaned, and the man laughed. He sounded remarkably like Thomas in accent, and nothing like him in inflection.

"Harry, wasn't it?" He said. He stepped closer, casting his face in light, and Harry's breath stuttered in his throat. He was beautiful, perhaps even more beautiful than his father, though they looked almost like clones of one another. But his smile was crueler, his eyes colder, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what it might feel like to be under him.

He looked like a man who'd accept nothing less than absolute control, and Harry wanted—more than anything—to test him.

He gulped, pushed at Thomas more insistently, and finally the man let up. He had his arm around Harry, hands on his bare back, and his mouth was swollen. He looked every inch the handsome, distinguished gentleman Harry had fallen in lust with, but there was something unfamiliar there. Something untrodden.

"What do you want," he said, and then blinked in surprise at himself. Thomas smiled, like Harry had done him proud, and pulled him so he was facing his son instead.

"I've always wanted to see how much you could take," he said. Harry bit his lip, looking at the way Tom's shirt stretched tight over his chest and shoulders, the sharpness of his grin and the strength, the obvious capability of his arms.

He let himself feel aroused, let himself _want_, because why would he deny himself when he was been given this on a silver platter?

So he stepped forward, tangled his hands in Tom's perfect hair, and kissed him hard. He felt Thomas press himself against his back, felt the hot shape of his erection against the back of his thigh, and smiled.


	17. Incest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

Harry was trying. He was trying so very hard, his fingers whitening around his pencil, trying to still the trembling of his body and _focus_. His brother's hands were on his hips, his mouth at Harry's ear, and Harry could practically _hear_ the smirk on his face.

"Come on, Harry," he said. He tapped at the question Harry was trying to work out. The question he could barely see, because his eyes wouldn't focus no matter how he tried.

"I've taught you how to figure this out," Tom was saying. He sounded stricter now, like he meant it. But the little pushes of his hips into Harry, of his _cock_ into Harry, said differently. Tom was in a playful mood this evening, which meant—unfortunately for Harry—that he would toy with Harry until he couldn't speak anymore. It was the type of thing Harry both loved and feared, because Tom seemed to have no patience for his shame or hesitance when he was like this.

He'd take no shyness from Harry, no furtive demands to be quiet or to reign himself in, because "Tom, we're brothers, what if they find out?"

Tom had never seen the sense in denying himself what he wanted, especially of the reason _not_ to was just that it was socially unacceptable. And though Harry very much _did_ understand, he had always been weak to Tom's suggestions and demands. He'd do anything for Tom, and Tom had no qualms taking advantage of that.

The he sat now, his arse wet and loose, on Tom's cock like it was completely normal, and still Tom wouldn't fuck him. He tapped at the question again, his mouth against Harry's neck now, his cock large and hard and slick inside him. "Finish the question, Harry, or you won't be getting anything."

And his legs were trembling, both with exhaustion and arousal, and he could _feel_ the come dripping from his arse, but Tom didn't seem bothered at all. He hadn't let Harry come once, had fucked him twice until only _he_ came, and kept himself inside Harry like Harry was just a convenient toy. He felt so loose, so used, but there was an illicit joy in it. He felt the guilt and shame burn in his stomach, but it didn't quiet his desire—only made it more potent.

He wouldn't get fucked until he answered the question. It was his last one, the last page—Tom would let him come after this, he prayed. But he couldn't focus on anything but Tom's hands on his hips and thighs, petting and groping and pinching, and on the way he bit at Harry's nape—so high it would be worrying, except he'd convinced Harry to grow his hair out a little.

"Tom _please_," he gasped when Tom moved his hips in another little push. "I'll do it later, I _will_, just—"

Tom's fingers were in his hair, and before he could say another word, he yanked Harry head back sharply. His teeth nipped at Harry's Adam's Apple, a little sharp, and his voice was deeper when he spoke.

"You'll finish, or I'll leave your little cock tied up all night."

And Harry knew he would. So he took a deep breath, trying to look past the blurriness in his eyes, the wetness borne from desperate desire, and painstakingly worked out his question.

And when he was done, Tom wasted no time. He made Harry bend to put the work away safely, and fingered the place where his cock met Harry's arse with great interest when he did. Then he had Harry face-down on the desk, and he thrust in so hard Harry thought he might black out. Being kept on the edge for so long, he'd become sensitive to the slightest movement, the littlest touch. Tom's furious, almost violent fucking made him cry out, and made him feel so overwhelmed that for a second he forgot where he even was.

And all the while, he thought about how anybody could walk in, and see Harry being fucked by his own brother, and how disgusted and horrified they'd be. He might have felt disgusted too, but when Tom was giving it to him so good, all he could think of was how he'd never let Tom go.

Even if it was wrong.


	18. Size Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Harry Potter

Harry was watching TV when his boyfriend came home.

It had been a short work day, so it was only just after lunch when Charlie stepped through the door, just worked out enough that he felt it, and not tired enough that all he wanted to do was sleep. It was the type of day where he felt a little restless, because what was he supposed to do with all this extra energy?

It was good for him that Harry had a few ideas about that.

Harry was dressed in one of his looser, longer t-shirts—the ones that fell to mid-thigh. He'd thought about wearing nothing underneath, but ultimately he hadn't really known that Charlie would come straight home, and it wasn't all that comfortable to walk around with his dick flopping everywhere.

So he was lying on the couch, his legs and arms, and he watched Charlie approach through hooded eyes, stretching in a way he knew would be provocative. It was easy to rile Charlie up. He was usually interested, even when he was tired—so much so he'd let Harry fuck himself on his cock even when he was half asleep. 

Harry shifted, turning himself just slightly so that his arse was angled, so that Charlie could see a little of the back of his thigh, and Charlie was on him almost immediately. His hands grabbed Harry's thighs and hiked them up so he was straddling Charlie's waist, and then he was leaning down, a forearm on either side of Harry's head. "Hello, princess," he murmured, and despite the aloof aura Harry was trying to cultivate, he couldn't help but smile.

Because Charlie was always so affectionate, so endearingly sweet, even when Harry could feel the already swelling shape of his arousal against his own. His eyes were always so soft when he looked at Harry, and it made Harry want to kiss him silly. So he wrapped his arms around Charlie's neck, and pressed their mouths together.

Charlie's beard was rough against his lips, but there was something enjoyable about the contrast between that and the soft warmth of his mouth. He let Charlie kiss him deep, and impatiently slipped his hand down into Charlie's jeans.

Harry absolutely adored Charlie, but by far one of his favourite parts of Charlie was between his legs. Harry hadn't been shy about sleeping with a number of people, but none had been as large as Charlie, and Harry couldn't deny that there was something addictive about fitting something that size inside him.

He arched into Charlie hard, and Charlie laughed into his mouth. Harry stroked his fingers along Charlie's cock, trying to wrap his hand around it, but the angle was all wrong and Charlie was so big, and Harry just wanted it all inside him.

"Come on, please, please," he chanted. He'd wanted this all day, had fantasised about the weight of Charlie inside him earlier when he'd fucked himself open on his dildo, but even that hadn't come close to easing his desire. Luckily, Charlie wasn't the patient type either. He slid Harry's little shorts off easily, and then his fingers were pushing into Harry's arse, and Harry was shoving his hips down onto them.

Not much later, Charlie was pressing the head of his cock to his hole. He always liked to go slow here—Harry loved the way he stretched around every inch of Charlie's cock, so wide it felt like the next bit would be too much, too wide, and it'd hurt. But then Charlie would push in some more, and Harry would feel the ache in his stomach, and _too much_ would never really come.

That wasn't usual. Charlie had told Harry about how prospective partners used to balk at the size of him, make awkward excuses or flushed apologies and leave, but Harry was of the opinion that it was their loss. He'd never really realised he'd had such an appreciation for _size_, but when he thought about his past lovers it made sense—he'd only gone up, and he'd found perfection with Charlie.

Panting, he clutched at Charlie's muscled biceps, spreading his legs as wide as he could with the back of the couch hampering his movement. Charlie's collar was open, and the limited view of his chest was so attractive that Harry wanted to rip his shirt off. But he felt so overwhelmed by the shape of Charlie inside him, the weight of him, that he could do nothing more than think vaguely about it.

It didn't matter how many times they fucked, every time still felt like the first.

When Charlie started moving, it was only small thrusts, but Harry couldn't control his voice. It felt incredible. Charlie groaned too, and his skin was so flushed, and his eyes were such a pretty shade of blue, that Harry couldn't look away.

Charlie smiled. "Am I doing good, princess?" He murmured. Then, "You're staring."

Harry huffed, wanting to laugh but feeling too out-of-breath to. "You look good," he replied. It was an understatement, but Harry couldn't think of any other words to describe the way the sun reflected off Charlie's skin.

Charlie pulled out and fucked into Harry hard, fast, and then laughed at the way Harry's eyes widened. He kept himself there, so deep it felt like he was coming up to Harry's throat, so deep that it felt like Harry would feel him there forever. "If you can talk," he said, "then I'm clearly not doing my job right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little :/ about this but eh


	19. Double Penetration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Voldemort/Harry Potter

The figure rose slowly out of the shadows, gleaming white under the light of the moon. For a second Harry could discern no features other than its impossibly tall shape, and the inhumanly smooth lines of its body. And then his eyes adjusted, and he realised he wasn't looking at another person after all.

The creature before him was a Naga.

His skin, which looked like it was glowing, wasn't skin at all, but small, fine scales that ran across his arms and down into his tail. Harry was frozen, watching the Naga slide closer, and he couldn't help but watch how the softer part of his belly looked duller, less harsh, gentler.

He should be afraid, and he _was_. But more than that, Harry found himself reluctantly aroused, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

Although, perhaps it was a stupid idea to think he could keep it to himself. As he watched, the Naga slid closer, the soft, hushed sound of his heavy body against grass and leaves insidious, and oddly enthralling. He stood, silent, as the Naga turned about him, so intently that Harry thought this must be the first time he saw a wizard up close.

He felt so stupid when he realised he was surrounded, and that he hadn't even realised the Naga was doing it. But it felt like he was lost in the sound of the Naga's soft hissing, and then the very next second he was wrapped in the creature's body, and his face was right before Harry's.

His breath went still in his throat. The Naga had a humanoid face, just like he had a humanoid upper body, but his features were very much inhuman. He had no nose—slits for nostrils instead of a bridge of bone and cartilage, and it's eyes were hellfire red. When he opened his mouth, a long forked tongue flicked out, and the lipless mouth curled into a vicious smirk.

"You're aroused," the Naga said. His voice was sibilant, just as soft as the movement of its body through the wilderness. Harry's swallowed hard, and didn't say anything.

The Naga pushed it's face even closer, until Harry could feel his cool breath on his face. "You are faced with a predator," he hissed, "and you _want_ him?"

Harry felt his face heating in shame, but he couldn't look away, couldn't escape. He could feel some sort of wet, hard shape press against his lower stomach, and he had to admit he was still terrified. But there was also lust, an intense curiosity, and Harry had never been able to deny himself something so clearly within his grasp.

So he took a deep breath, and looked down.

There were two. They protruded from the place where the Naga's waist met his tail, from a long, pink slit in the scaly skin. They were large, and wetter than any human cock Harry had ever come across. But though they were shaped a little differently, they were pink and hot where they pressed into Harry's bare stomach, and Harry couldn't help but want them inside him.

The Naga laughed, and his hand came up to grab the back of Harry's neck. "Such a wanton little thing," he said. His nails were sharp against Harry's skin, and for a second Harry feared he might die here tonight. But then the Naga was pushing him around and over his own massive tail, so that Harry had his forearms on the ground, and his arse in the air. He tried to turn, but the Naga's strength was incredible, and he was only human.

"If you're so desperate, human boy, then I'll take what you give. Lord Voldemort does not deny himself that which so readily falls into his hands."

His fingers made quick work of Harry's arse, and then he was sliding inside, no build up or warning, straight to the hilt. He went so deep that Harry cried out in shock, and then moaned when the Naga started fucking him.

He moved fast, and his every thrust was so powerful it left Harry stunned. Dimly, he realised he was practically screaming, his voice getting louder and louder as the Naga fucked him, but he couldn't care. All that mattered was the slick slide of the Naga's cock, and the lewd sounds of their coupling.

And Harry thought that would be it. The Naga already felt so good inside him, his second cock pressing up from beneath Harry's balls, fucking Harry's thighs until they were wet and shiny with whatever lubricant he produced so much of. But then the Naga pulled back, and when he fucked back in—his stroke just as smooth and fast—the stretch felt incredibly _more_, and Harry realised what was happening.

"Too much," he tried to say, and at the same time, "more." It all came out in a garbled mess, but the Naga seemed to understand anyway. The wide grin of his mouth, pressed against the space between Harry's shoulder blades, said as much. In response, he only fucked Harry harder, until his eyes were rolling back into his head, until he was wondering if the push of the cocks inside him could be seen against his stomach, and how would he live without ever having this again?

How would a normal, human man ever compare to this?


	20. Impact Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Kami, bc she helped me decide on the prompt for today <s>and also the setting</s> ❤️

Harry had been in the back of the stables when Tom Riddle walked in, so he didn't notice the Lord's son until he called for Harry. Or rather, he called for the _stable boy_, and as Harry was the only one present, he was forced to answer.

"Yes, sir?"

Riddle was dressed for riding, a crop in one hand and a half-eaten biscuit in the other. He finished it slowly, making Harry wait as he looked around at his leisure. He only addressed Harry once he'd finished, and then it was with a very annoyed expression.

"Where's my horse?" He demanded.

Harry bit his lip. "I'm sorry sir," he decided to say eventually, "I'll get her ready now."

"No." Riddle's firm voice stopped Harry in his tracks. He turned back around to see Riddle glaring at him, a small pout on his lips. He might have looked cute, almost, except every time he opened his mouth it reminded Harry of how much he disliked the younger Riddle.

He was stepping closer now, almost until he was too far into Harry's space to be comfortable. "I asked for her to be ready twenty minutes ago. Why isn't she?"

Harry swallowed. "Lord Riddle asked me to—"

"I don't care a whit about _Lord Riddle_," Tom sneered.

Harry frowned. It was a well-known fact that the younger Riddle didn't get along well with the elder, but to be so blunt and open about it? "Well, there is nobody except me on site today, sir," he replied stiffly. "Lord Riddle was aware that you'd set me a task, but he asked to be given priority."

Riddles face changed then, going from annoyed to blank, and yet somehow so vexed that it worried Harry. And then he was looking at Harry like he was a sum to be calculated, a mystery to be solved, and Harry at once felt afraid and pleased. Afraid, because his anonymity was the reason he'd lasted so long at this job, and pleased, because despite his attitude Tom Riddle did have a certain _charm_. And though Harry might like to pretend otherwise, he was certainly not immune.

It must have shown on his face, because Riddle grinned suddenly. He tapped the leather of his boot with his crop, once, twice, and then pointed to the floor with the other hand. "On your knees, boy," he said. "You ought to have done as I asked, and unfortunately for you, father just isn't here to help you."

Harry flushed, indignant. _Boy_? Why, he was only a year or two younger than Riddle, and certainly a far sight more mature. But Harry needed the job, and he didn't want a bratty, rich boy's attitude to be the reason he lost it, so he did as asked.

Once he was kneeling, Tom Riddle tapped the crop against his cheek. It was an incredibly gentle movement, but somehow it still smarted, and made Harry wince. Riddle then strode forward, grabbed his chin, and turned it from side to side as if to admire it. "You're certainly prettier than I'd expect from a stable boy," he murmured, almost as if talking to himself. "I wonder how I've never noticed you before."

Harry said nothing. Tutting, Riddle moved back and around Harry, until he stood behind him. Still Harry didn't move, and Riddle poked him with the crop, clearly delighting in Harry's aborted gasp. "Shirt off," he ordered, and when Harry had stripped himself of it, he asked for Harry's trousers next.

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

Tom pushed the crop into his bare back harder, until Harry was sure it'd bruise. "I said, pull down your breeches."

And Harry wanted to deny him. He wanted to get up and slap the crop out of Riddle's hand, or maybe just slap Riddle himself. He wanted to demand Riddle ready his own horse and maybe bring an apple for her next time, because it was the least he could do. But there was something unbearably arousing about the situation he was in, and Harry found his throat dry and his mouth wet, and his limbs trembling with undeniable excitement.

So he bent at the waist, lifted his arse from his feet, and slid his breeches down until the waistband rested just under this butt. 

Next thing he knew, Riddle was pushing him over onto his hands, and then the stick part of the crop was hitting the fleshiest part of his arse. It didn't really hurt much—a light tap, and not the worst he'd had, but more than that it felt incredibly indecent. It felt almost _more_ explicit than sex, like there was something inherently more depraved about enjoying being hit than enjoying being shagged.

Riddle hit him again, harder, and the sting went straight to his cock. He felt his breath coming a little faster, his face feeling a little warmer, but mostly he could hear Riddle. He didn't even realise it at first, too focused on the sharp snap of the crop against his arse, but then Riddle's breath hitched audibly, and Harry was struck with how much Riddle was enjoying this.

He imagined the man with an inappropriate bulge in his trousers, flushed and aroused even though this was meant to be simple punishment, and found himself pleased at the perceived effect he was having. The hits were coming faster now, harder, and Riddle was hitting with the end that was made for it. It snapped against his skin more loudly, it's hit more aching and satisfying, and Harry felt like his arse was burning.

He moaned loudly, helplessly, and Riddle cursed and threw the crop to the side. Before Harry knew it the man yanking him up, pushing him against the wall in a kind of frenzy that felt uncontrollable and dangerous. Riddle's hand went to his arse, like he wanted to fuck Harry open right there and then. His finger pushed a little at his hole, but there was no lube, and Riddle seemed too impatient regardless. Instead he hit Harry's outer thigh, with his bare palm this time, and demanded that Harry keep them tightly together.

"Or else," he added, his voice darker than Harry had ever heard before. Harry was tempted to ask what _or else_ entailed, just to see how far he could push him, but then Riddle's cock was sliding between his thighs, and all Harry could think about was how good it felt pressed up under his balls.

And this felt indecent too, in a way that brought a flush to the entirety of Harry's body. He'd always thought of sex as being a private affair, done in bedrooms and secret places where nobody but a nksy maid might see. But this was quite in the open—anybody could walk in, from the kitchen boy to Lord Riddle himself. Harry was fairly sure nobody would, but that was beside the point.

And yet Riddle didn't seem to care at all. Perhaps he was just so shameless that he got up to things like this all the time, Harry mused. And then Riddle pushed his cock as far as it would go, and Harry looked down to see the pink head of his thick, swollen erection, and any thoughts that weren't about Riddle's cock just seemed inconsequential. He pushed his thighs together harder, earning a loud groan from Riddle, and reached down to touch his own cock.

Riddle patted his red, sore arse, and laughed. "I'll have to have you again, after," he murmured in Harry's ear. "You're far too pretty to let go of."


	21. Somnophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-con, because Harry is asleep during this.

The house was dark when he entered. That was expected, of course—Tom had planned everything meticulously, watching and waiting for days, weeks, noting every minute detail about the man who lived here, and accounting for any changes in routine.

But it was a Thursday night, and Harry Potter gone to sleep just as he always did, exactly _when_ he always did. Tom waited carefully, fingering his copy of the house key in anticipation. This would be the night, he thought, when he'd finally get to touch his obsession. He'd approached Harry during the day, of course, and they'd become easy friends, but it was going so _slow_. Harry would eventually end up giving in to him, of that Tom was sure, but for now he felt the need to touch Harry crawling up his throat like acid, and he couldn't wait any longer.

So finally, when about an hour and a half had passed, Tom walked up to the house and entered. He didn't waste any time loitering or exploring any of the rooms, but strode straight towards the bedroom upstairs, taking care to keep his footsteps quiet.

Harry looked absolutely precious as he slept. When he was awake, there was a fire in him that Tom admittedly adored. He never stood still, never stopped talking or moving, like there were a million urges inside him just waiting to come out. He was loud, when he was awake, and opinionated. Tom had fondly called him his brat, because that's exactly what Harry was—an opinionated, constantly cheerful brat. Like this though, he almost looked like a child. Not in the sense that his features were young, but in the way that his innocence was so clearly displayed on his unconscious features.

He looked achingly vulnerable, and Tom wasn't sure which he wanted to do more—protect him, or ruin him.

He crept closer, and stripped the blanket from the sleeping man. The days had been getting warmer, and Harry had recently switched from his sweatpants to shorts, a loose t-shirt covering his upper body. He slept with his legs and arms splayed, like he couldn't contain himself now that he had the space to spread out. Like he was so sure that nobody would hurt him here that he felt safe enough to lay like this, open and sweet.

In a way, Tom supposed he wasn't wrong. Tom would never hurt him—he only wanted a taste, and what's Harry didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Wasn't that the saying?

The bed dipped heavily when Tom leaned his knee on it, but Harry didn't move. Tom had known he wouldn't, but it was still a relief to see Harry remain so oblivious. This close, Tom could hear the slightest snore as Harry breathed in. It would have annoyed him on anybody else, he was sure, but on Harry it was just cute.

And then he was straddling Harry's sleeping body, and he couldn't hold back any longer. Harry's sleep-warm skin seemed softer somehow than when Harry was awake. Perhaps it was his utter stillness, or the fact that Tom had only ever gotten to brush his fingers across Harry's wrist on passing, but the feeling was addictive. Tom's fingers spread across his midriff, exploring the way Harry's body moved with each breath, and then they were sliding up, up, until Harry's shirt was rucked up underneath his armpits, and Tom's fingers were at his nipples.

And such pretty nipples they were too, small and pink, going stiff under Tom's touch. He played with then, rolling them softly, and wondered if Harry could feel it in his sleep. Was dreaming about this? Was he dreaming of himself or Tom? Because Tom had seen the looks Harry had given him, had noticed the way Harry grew blind to everyone else when with Tom. He was sure there was nobody else in Harry's mind.

Besides, even if there had been, they wouldn't have remained for much longer.

Flicking Harry's nipple on last time, Tom imagined he could play with Harry's chest forever. But he was too curious about what was lower, under Harry's waistband, and he wasn't going to deny himself now that he was so close.

He pushed himself back a little, and then slid Harry's shorts down. It took a little maneuvering, but Harry was so much smaller than him that it took no effort to lift his arse, and slip the shorts under it. Then he was staring at Harry's limp, pink cock, and—when he positioned his legs just so, he found himself a perfect view of Harry's arse and balls too.

He couldn't help himself. He leaned forward, and licked the sack, mouthing at it with a gentleness he hadn't known he had in him. Slowly but surely, Harry's cock began to thicken and rise, and Tom was transfixed. Harry was so beautiful, his lips open and lax, his thighs spread so indecently for Tom, his cute little cock hard for him. Tom wanted to pull his own out where it pushed insistently against his jeans, but he knew he wouldn't be able to control himself if he did.

Harry might sleep through a few kisses, but he wouldn't stay asleep through a fucking.

So instead, Tom kissed the crown of Harry's cock, gleeful at how much smaller it was compared to his own. Harry wasn't _that_ small, not really, but Tom had been gifted in the size department. The idea of being so much larger than Harry got to him, made him want to show off to Harry and watch his eyes widen in trepidation and desire.

Oh, how he wished he could be doing this to Harry awake. He sucked Harry's cock into his mouth, and wondered what Harry's mouth might feel like on his own. He wanted so badly to look up and see Harry looking back, it to feel Harry's hands in his hair, but he stifled the disappointment.

No matter what, this would be a night he'd treasure always—a secret not even Harry would ever know about.

  
And really, as he kissed Harry's sleeping mouth, he found there was something _intoxicating_ about touching Harry with him being none the wiser.


	22. Lingerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle Sr/Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me or are these getting longer (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄
> 
> Also this was maybe somewhat inspired by a conversation with Kami....so take from that what u will

It had been a long morning for Harry. The very first thing he'd done that day, as usual, had been to go straight into Mr Riddle's office, armed with the usual schedule and black coffee. He'd set the mug down on the coaster, because Mr Riddle was always so nitpicky about those things, and then waited with a smile for his boss to look up.

And waited.

It soured a little in his stomach after a while, the fragile excitement he'd been experiencing all morning, because last night had felt like something magical. He remembered Mr Riddle's touch, his voice in Harry's ear, his warmth against his chest, so vividly it was almost as if it were happening right now, and yet Mr Riddle seemed completely unbothered.

After a long, awkward minute, Mr Riddle tapped on the desk sharply to garner his attention. "The schedule, Harry," he demanded. His voice was just as deep and attractive as last night, but it felt colder now. Harry wondered if he'd done something wrong.

"Of course," he mumbled, willing his voice not to shake. He was so confused, and—despite only spending one night with the man, _hurt_. Sure, it might just have been casual sex, even though it hadn't felt like it last night, but he'd thought Mr Riddle at least _liked him_—as a friend, if nothing else. They'd gotten along so well before, and now Mr Riddle was treating him like he was a stranger, and Harry felt sick.

He read out the schedule, and left the office. The rest of the day went just like that, and Harry's mood had gone from bewildered to annoyed by the time the end of the day rolled around. He felt a little uncomfortable, his underwear being what it was, but mostly he felt unbearably _slutty_, and not in a fun way. He felt stupid. He didn't think he wanted anything to do with Mr Riddle anymore.

And then, just as Harry was about to leave for the day, his boss called him into his office.

Harry wanted to glare at him, or be moody with him. He wanted to turn his nose up at Mr Riddle, or maybe just treat him with the same distance Mr Riddle had treated him with. But the man was looking at him so intently, his eyes dark and unreadable, that Harry couldn't pretend to be unbothered.

"You've been pouty today, Harry," Mr Riddle said. Harry felt himself going pink with indignance, but he didn't say a thing. Mr Riddle watched him, as if Harry was a particularly interesting specimen, and then his eyes softened.

"Come here."

Harry hesitated, but Mr Riddle still looked so friendly—a little like last night, so he did as he was told. When he was standing right next to Mr Riddle, his boss put a hand on Harry's arm, and positioned him so he was standing between Mr Riddle and his desk.

"Now," he said. "Explain why you haven't been doing your job properly."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He felt the guilt rise up in his chest, making his ears ring with anxiety, because Mr Riddle was right. He was, first and foremost, here for the work, and he'd done an abysmal job at being secretary today. Practically half of his job was greeting and dealing with guests, and no doubt he'd been impassive enough that someone had complained about it to Mr Riddle.

His face felt hot.

Mr Riddle waited, and when Harry didn't have an answer, he nodded. "I see," he murmured, and then, "Turn around."

Nervously, Harry did as told, and then yelped when he felt Mr Riddle's hands on him. They were strong, sudden, and they pushed him down so Harry was bent over the desk. "Stay there," he was told. Harry heard the sound of the chair being pushed a little further away, and then Mr Riddle was standing right next to him.

"Pants off."

"What?" Harry demanded. Mr Riddle didn't move, didn't flinch, but looked down at Harry with the same impenetrable gaze.

"I said, pants off."

So Harry slipped them off. He felt his face burning as he did, not just because he was stripping in his boss' office, but because of what he wore underneath. He heard Mr Riddle's sharp intake of breath, felt his hand go stiff where it lay on his back, and he wasn't sure how to feel. Was Mr Riddle shocked? Angry? Harry couldn't properly look at his face to tell, and the stretching silence made the trepidation rise.

"I see," Mr Riddle said softly, so softly that Harry wasn't sure he was supposed to hear. Then Mr Riddle turned so he was kneeling behind Harry, his face level with Harry's arse, so close he could feel his boss' breath on his skin. He didn't know how to react, and might have just straightened up to walk out. But then Mr Riddle's hand came to rest on his thigh, and it grounded him.

"What's this, Harry?" He said. "A gift, for me?" And then, "I suppose I understand why you were in such a huff all day, darling."

He kissed the skin at the small of Harry's back, just above the waistband of his panties. His fingers stroked the edges of the underwear, like he was memorising its shape, like he was fascinated with the contrast. His fingers were warm and rough, and they made Harry shiver with anticipation.

Mr Riddle pressed another kiss, lower, right on Harry's arse, and then another, to the opposite side. His chin was rough with his five o'clock shadow, and that was somehow unbearably hot to Harry—that he had been so clean-shaven in the morning, and was now leaving marks between Harry's thighs.

Mr Riddle's mouth was on his panties, right over where his hole would be. Harry pushed back, eager, arousal growing in the pit of his stomach like a smouldering coal, but Mr Riddle wouldn't take them off, and wouldn't do more than just wet the fabric and bite.

"Please," Harry moaned loudly, and Mr Riddle stopped.

He stood up, pressed close against Harry's back so his hips were pressed to Harry's, and his crotch to Harry's arse. "I said I understood," he told Harry. "That doesn't mean you weren't wrong. It doesn't mean you don't get to be punished."

"I'm _sorry_," Harry exclaimed, and he _was_. Mir Riddle's disappointment felt heavier than his desperation to get off, but he didn't know how to fix it. "I won't do it again, I promise! I'm sorry."

Mr Riddle was silent. Harry heard the zip of his fly go down, heard him pull his cock out so it was pressed against Harry's arse. Then one of Mr Riddle's hands came up to Harry's neck to hold him in place, and the other rubbed across his arse. "Just stay here," he said, finally. "Don't move."

He reached down, between Harry's legs, and dug his nail into the delicate fabric. The next thing Harry heard was a slow _rip_, and then cool air where there wasn't supposed to be any. He gasped, a sharp, aborted sound that meant he'd wanted to say something, but Mr Riddle's hand tightened on his nape, and he fell silent.

"This is your punishment," Mr Riddle told him. His voice was dark, like a threat, but sweeter. He slid his cock along Harry's arse slowly, making sure Harry would feel every inch. Harry wriggled, wanting more, but a sharp slap to his arse quickly made him settle. Mr Riddle pushed his dick into the hole in Harry's panties, sliding his cock between Harry's arse cheeks, and started to rock back and forth slowly.

"I know you wanted to get fucked."

Harry nodded, mouth open against the rough wood of the desk. Mr Riddle kept fucking, and said, "But you don't get that. You get to stay here like this."

Harry moaned, because it felt so good, but it was all too little. "Please," he moaned. "_Please_, sir."

But Mr Riddle was immovable. "You don't get to come," he said. "You're going to let me use you, and stay still like a good boy. I'm going to come all over you, and then you're going to go home, and shower, and go to bed."

He was moving faster now, his voice going hoarse. There was worth building between their bodies, but it didn't help his erection any—only made him harder, more wanting.

"I'll see you here, in my office, bright and early tomorrow. I'll decide if you've been good enough then, and I'll decide what you deserve for it."

Then his touch gentled, and he leaned down to press a warm, soft kiss onto the nape of Harry's neck.

"Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir," he promised.


	23. Cuckolding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

He could feel Draco's eyes on him, intent as he walked towards Tom Riddle. Harry kept his chin up, kept his walk smooth and sure as was expected of a Malfoy spouse, but he couldn't help the insecurities that raised their ugly heads.

It was the first time he'd ever done anything like this. Draco often showed him off to powerful men, taking him around elite gatherings and talking about Harry like he was a particularly valuable piece of art in his possession. Harry didn't mind—in fact, in his quietest moments, he had to admit that it was something he _enjoyed_. He _liked_ being admired, being wanted, being sought after. It made him warm to think about these rich people, wishing they could have him and not being allowed to touch him.

But Tom Riddle was on quite a different level, and Draco was willing to do _anything_ to gain his favour.

Harry sat next to the man, the wizard who held almost complete control over the magical black market, who appeared to the public as just a particularly charming politician despite his illicit businesses. His magic came off him in waves, dark and delicious and a sure sign of his immense power. Harry wasn't surprised that Draco would be so willing to bow to him—he himself felt almost hypnotised, though he'd only heard of the man in passing before this.

Riddle leaned back into the back of the sofa, patting the space next to him. When Harry sat down, he pulled him a little closer, until their shoulders practically touching, and put his hand on Harry's thigh so easily it was as if it belonged there. Harry felt the warmth of his hand like a brand, the heat radiating out from the point of contact until he felt flushed. He dared to look up at Riddle, and found the man smiling down at him, smug and relaxed.

"You have quite an attractive husband, Mr Malfoy," he said.

He heard Draco cough awkwardly. "Yes, thank you." There was a pause, which riddle didn't even seem to notice, and then Draco something else. Harry heard his voice, the nervous tilt of his words, but he couldn't look away from Riddle, and that seemed to please Riddle even more.

His hand slid higher, sliding across the smooth fabric of Harry's expensive trousers to the inseam. Harry pressed his thighs together, to feel the shape of Mr Riddle's hand between them, and felt arousal begin to warm his stomach.

And still he didn't look away. Riddle bent close, like he was sharing a secret, and asked, "Are you enjoying yourself, Mr Potter?"

"Harry," Harry replied, almost without thinking. "And of course. The food was amazing, and your company even more so." And then, sparing Draco the briefest glance, "Your house is very beautiful, Mr Riddle."

"I'm glad you're having a good evening, Harry," Riddle said. "And considering our plans for the evening, I insist you call me Tom."

He pressed his hand harder between Harry's legs then, shameless in how obvious his advances were. "I'm having a good evening too," he added, completely ignoring Draco. "But it's going to get so much better."

Harry looks over at Draco again, expecting him—despite everything, to at least look a little jealous or unsure. But, though he looked a little awkward, the most prominent reaction in Draco was evidently lust. He was looking carefully at Tom's hand between his legs, watching the way the other slid around his waist now, and his face had gone a soft pink with it.

Harry felt himself wanting too, the desire only increasing at the knowledge that Draco was watching. It shouldn't be this hot, but the idea of being fucked open by a man more powerful, more capable than his husband, was incredibly attractive. And more than that was the idea of Draco watching and the fact that—even if he changed his mind, there was nothing his husband could do to stop Tom from having what he wanted.

Tom pressed against the inside of his thigh, and Harry spread his legs. Tom wasted no time in undoing his fly, and then his hand was inside, wrapped around his growing erection, the pressure warm and smooth and perfect. It felt almost surprisingly good to be touched by him, like Harry had been hard for hours and not mere minutes. He moaned softly, easing into the touch, and then Tom was forcing him up.

His hands were on Harry's hips, his mouth at the skin of Harry's stomach, right above his waistband. "I'm not a very patient man," Tom said. He looked at Harry, making sure he understood, and then leaned back again.

Harry swallowed hard, and let his trousers drop. He didn't bother with his shirt—didn't think he could, in such an open room, his husband's eyes on his bare arse. Instead, he kept his eyes on Tom as he bent over, braced a hand on Tom's thigh, and fingered himself open.

He heard Draco gasp, the kind of sound he made when he was getting more frantic in reaching his orgasm. Harry put on a show for him, stretching himself wide, until he was loose and wet and hungry, and then turned so he was facing Draco.

Tom's hands on his arse were sure, strong, and unhesitant. Harry hadn't expected him to be, of course, but it was still surprising to be faced with such a novel situation, and for one of the participants to react with such confidence and ease.

Harry wondered what he'd have to do to shake Tom's surety, to test his limits a little, and then blushed when he realised what he was thinking about. Because this was a one time thing, done purely because Tom liked the look of him and Draco was desperate enough for his approval to mention it to him. Harry had agreed to it, but that didn't mean he wanted a repeat.

Did it?

Tom's fingers were pushing at his hole, slipping injust the slightest bit, as if testing the give of him. "Good," he pronounced eventually, and then, "Sit down, darling."

Harry let loose a shuddering breath, letting Tom guide him back into his lap. He put his hand on Tom's, the other going back to steady Tom's cock. But though he tried to slide down, to sit back and let Tom fuck him, Tom's hand was too firm. He controlled Harry's movement, making the stretch so slow that it felt infinite, so gradual that it felt all the more intense by the second.

"Look at your husband," Tom murmured. Harry moaned loudly, sitting fully back with all of Tom's cock inside him, and he felt so _full_. He couldn't think of anything but how heavy it felt inside him, how large, but Tom was insistent. He grabbed Harry's chin and pushed it up, so Harry was looking at Draco and the bulge in his pants, and the flush in his cheeks.

"Look at him," Tom said again. "Look at him whoring you out and enjoying it. He can't even fuck you right, can he?" And he snapped his hips up, the movement so sharp it brought yet another cry to Harry's lips.

He shook his head desperately, but it was like Tom was saying all the things Harry had only let himself think in the darkest hours of the night. Tom's every thrust was strong, hard, and so good that Harry wondered if he'd ever even been fucked like this before, and still Draco just watched.

"What's he going to do if I take you, Harry?" Tom's voice was quiet, but just loud enough that Harry wondered if Draco could hear it.

"Tom," he gasped, "I need—"

"I know what you need." And then, "I know what you need," Tom repeated. "And I'm the only one who can give it to you."


	24. Clothing Disparity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Sirius Black/Harry Potter

Harry hadn't even realised it at first. It was a hot evening, the sort where the heat still stuck around even after the sun went down, and the air smelled of flowers and cars long gone. It was cooler now, but still still warm enough that Harry felt his skin go damp with sweat, an awkward wetness behind his knees and down his back.

But he wasn't really thinking about any of that. Sirius lay on top of him, his mouth warm and soft and intent. Harry stared at him in the dark, thinking he could make out the shade of Sirius' eyes, or the arch of his brows, and then the occasional passing car would light up his face, and Harry would feel his breath escape him again. Because it didn't matter how long he looked at Sirius—he was still the most attractive person Harry had ever seen.

And kissing him was distracting. Sirius' hands were surprisingly dry for the weather, and he was sliding them up Harry's t-shirt, up his chest and across his back. His touch was slow, and Harry could feel the rough of his fingers, callused from work, as they smoothed over every inch of him. They made his skin feel more sensitive in turn, made him shiver until all he wanted was more of Sirius' weight on him.

Sirius tugged at the hem of his shirt, a question. Harry sat up, and let Sirius strip him of his shirt before laying back down.

"That's it, darling," Sirius murmured. And then he was pressing close between Harry's legs, and Harry's shorts were just _in the way_ and before he knew it Harry lay naked and spread out over the backseat of Sirius' car. Anybody could walk past and see, Harry thought, and then, '_Sirius will cover me_.'

It took a moment for the thought to register. Sirius was biting along his collarbone, his teeth sharp enough that it'd mark, but once the thought grew in Harry's head it didn't leave. Sirius was fully clothed —jeans and a shirt, his usual leather jacket across the back of the driver's seat, and Harry was absolutely bare. It was a minor detail, and if Harry was bothered he could easily remedy it—Sirius wouldn't protest it, after all. But it wasn't that the idea upset or annoyed Harry, more that his mind felt stuck on it, like there was something there to explore.

But Sirius' cock was hard and pressed against the top Harry's thigh insistently, and Harry could think of little except how much he wanted to touch Sirius. He reached down for Sirius' belt, almost on memory. "Let me," he whispered, sliding his hand into Sirius' jeans, and grasped his cock. His other hand went to Sirius' trim waist, he felt the way the muscle moved under the skin in tandem with Sirius' thrusts into his hand, sliding his palm down Sirius' cock in practiced strokes. It felt so hot between them, and for a second Harry considered just making Sirius come like this.

But Sirius' clothed leg was between his thighs, pressing close to Harry's bare, flushed cock, and it felt both rough and delicious against his skin. He wasn't sure why, wasn't sure exactly _what_ about it got to him, but the idea of Sirius being fully clothed and Harry being so naked only made him more aroused.

He whined into Sirius mouth, spreading his legs for him. Sirius chuckled, his eyes narrow with affection and mirth, and his hand dipped down between Harry's legs.

Time seemed to stretch on forever, in the back of Sirius' car, so late the roads were all but deserted. Later, Sirius would drop him off in front of his house, and leave with a hard kiss and the lingering feeling of being full. Harry would have to walk in and explain to his parents why he was so late, why his clothes were a mess, where he'd gotten that hickey from. And maybe he'd be annoyed at Sirius then, about how obvious he'd been. But this moment, on the edge of being uncomfortably hot, feeling the slow rise of orgasm in his cock and the smell of sex in the air—this moment seemed eternal, and Harry lost himself in it.

Sirius was eager when he fucked into Harry, so deep that Harry could feel the material of his jeans against his arse, the biting metal of his zip, the cotton of Sirius' shirt against this chest. He was so close, so impossibly _near_ that it felt like he _was_ Harry's world, purely because he took up so much of it. Harry felt an unbearable sort of fondness arise in his chest for Sirius, for the way his perfect hair looked a mess now, the way his mouth smiled against Harry's skin. It hurt, felt heavy in Harry's throat and behind his teeth like a real, tangible thing. His cock felt larger, longer, hotter, and maybe that was just the nakedness—Harry felt everything so keenly when it was against bare skin, like the clothing had muffled the world, and he was just now hearing it. Every touch of Sirius' felt overwhelmingly _present_, and Harry wanted it to never end.

And from the way Sirius pressed kisses into his hair, he didn't think it would.


	25. Fucking Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Bill Weasley/Harry Potter

Harry had lost track of how long they'd been walking. Their steps echoed against the stone walls, so loud Harry thought he'd miss anything approaching over the sound of it, and the sconces were set far enough apart that the darkness between them seemed far too deep. When they'd come across the first torch, Bill had tried to pull it from its place, but it had stuck no matter how he pulled. Harry had watched him for a moment too long, admiring the way his skin stretched over muscle as he flexed, and then pulled out his wand to magic their own lights into existence.

That's when they realised they were in trouble. Until then, Bill had been under the impression that an exit would be easy to find, straight ahead a few feet. They weren't really supposed to use magic, it being a secret tomb with a number of magical curses set for intruders, but clearly the situation was more dire than that, because Harry's spell didn't work.

They both tried then, tried everything from conjuring fire to cooling charms to a Patronus, but nothing had happened. Not even a spark.

After looking, fruitless minutes of this, Bill had suggested just walking along the tunnel, and with no other prospects Harry had agreed. And now he was tired, and thirsty, and his feet ached something fierce. Bill looked about the same—they's stopped talking a while ago, too sweaty, their throats too dry to bother. And it was in this vein that they continued when they came upon a huge chamber.

It stretched over three stories high, from Harry's guess, and equally as wide. Despite its size it was fully illuminated in gold, warm light. There were all sorts of carving on the walls, and a sort of flat platform lay in the center, but what Harry was more interested in was the gently running water all along the edges. He wondered how he hadn't heard it, but surmised that it must have been some sort of spell keeping the sound from reaching beyond the chamber.

Immediately he dropped to his knees, desperate for water. Bill's hand came down hard into Harry's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"We should be careful," he said. "It might not be safe."

Harry looked from the water to Bill, and then back again. "It's running water," he replied. "And it doesn't _look_ cursed."

Bill but his lip. He tried to cast a few spells, but it still wouldn't work, so he plucked a hair from his head to drop in. No effect. He sighed.

"Go ahead, I suppose," he replied, and then watched with badly concealed longing as Harry immediately dunked his head into the stream.

After Harry had had his fill, he shook his wet hair out of his face, and smiled brightly at Bill. He felt so much better now that his parched throat and aching feet had found some relief. "I'm not dead yet," he said to Bill. "I'm sure it's safe."

Bill gave him another uncertain look, as if debating with himself, and then shrugged. Clearly the thirst had won out, because he bent and dipped his cupped hands into the water, and brought them to his lips.

Harry watched him drink, watched the slow drip of water down his throat, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. He felt the sudden urge to follow that trail with his mouth, and shook it off himself.

This was not the time for such things. But not only were they stuck in some ancient tunnel system, but Bill had recently come out of his relationship with Fleur. It was no time for Bill to be involving himself with a man so much younger than himself 

He got up and walked towards the middle of the room, his eyes on the dias of stone. It too had markings along the sides, just like the walls, but Harry didn't give them more than a curious glance. He sat down, stretching his legs and feet as he regained some energy, and then almost jumped when the stone under him trembled.

But it was too late. His hands were bound somewhere behind him, stuck to the stone under him, and when Harry tried to pull he realised his feet were bound too. Harry was sitting with his legs on either side of the stone, his chest pushed forwards and up because of the way his arms were positioned, and he couldn't move.

"Bill," he gasped, and then yelled, "Bill!"

Harry heard splashing as he presumably got up, rushing towards Harry with heavy footsteps, but he couldn't see. "What's wrong?" He asked, urgent, and then stopped still right out of Harry's field of vision. His voice sounded far too close when he whispered, "Oh dear," but Harry had other problems on his hands.

He was feeling unbearably hot and wet. At first he thought it was just the panic and the heat, and that it was sweat between his legs. But there was so much of it, and it was so slick against his thighs, that Harry soon realised it felt quite a lot different from regular sweat.

Bill was trying to pull at the stone that was holding his hands behind his back. His fingers slipped against Harry's in his attempts, scratching at his wrist. But the cuffs were firm and unmoving, and his tugging did nothing but redden Harry's skin.

"I don't know what to do," Bill said, coming around to stand before Harry. "I'm not even sure I've _heard_ of something like this before, but—"

"_Bill_," Harry moaned, embarrassingly loud. He might have cared, and a part of him wanted to hide his face right then, but there was something hard and blunt pushing at his arse. The soft, light trousers Harry had donned that morning seemed no match for its determination, for it ripped through quite easily, and then it was just slipping into Harry's arse.

Why was it so easy? There should have been pain, or at least an awkward stretch, but instead there was just a heated, urgent pleasure. His arse felt unbearably slick—it was where the strange wetness was coming from, but mostly it was the phallic shape pushing into him that astounded him.

Because it wasn't stone, or inhumanly cold. It was hot against his skin, and when it fucked into him, Harry's swore he could feel it throbbing like it was something alive, something sentient. Bill's eyes had gone wide, but though he appeared horrified, he didn't seem disgusted. Harry didn't really want to care about Bill's reactions, but still he found himself hoping he wouldn't turn away.

Even through the intoxicating haze that overtook him, he watched Bill, and turned his face up as he neared. "Oh Harry," Bill said. "I don't think I can stop this."

But Harry wasn't sure he wanted it to stop. "Please," he said instead. "I _need_ it."

The cock inside him was fucking him hard, fast and powerful strokes making him lose all sense of what was real. Harry thought he might have fallen one way or the other, if the bindings didn't keep him firmly in place. He moaned at the feeling of being fucked, and then Bill's eyes went a little hard.

"You're _enjoying_ this, aren't you," he said. It wasn't really a question. He stepped closer, until he was standing with his face to Harry's. His hand slid into Harry's hair, curling around the back of his head like a lover's caress, and he cocked his head to the side.

Then he smirked. "It's a good thing you are," he admitted, "because I am too." And then he leaned down and kissed Harry.


	26. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Ron Weasley/Harry Potter

It had taken a surprisingly long time before Ron and Harry ever touched each other. The shift of their relationship from platonic to romantic seemed to come on a scale, so that it was hard to pinpoint a specific time when it changed. All Ron knew was that he'd forever loved Harry, and one day they started sitting closer, and hugging more, and holding hands, and no words needed to be said to make either of their feelings clear.

Perhaps the slow advance of their relationship could be blamed on the war—it was a busy, stressful time for all of them, after all, with little time for romantic endeavours. But even so it took a whole month before Ron kissed Harry on the mouth, and two more before they ever embraced in a less-than-platonic sense.

Ron had seen Harry naked tons of times, and vice versa—that was just the state of things in a boys' dorm, but it was quite a lot different to be stripping Harry himself. More intimate, for one, in quite an unexpected way. It felt heavier when Harry was baring himself solely for Ron, as opposed to just changing into pyjamas across the room.

He watched, fascinated, as Harry let Ron strip him of his shirt. His skin was tanned, going pink with Harry's shy blush, and covered in scars. He had all sorts—a long, jagged one that ran down his forearm; a round one against his chest from the locket; a pink, curved one along his side from the final battle. Ron had seen them all as they appeared, one by one, marring Harry's skin like ink on parchment. He'd been there for some, and wished he'd been there for others, but he knew where each and every one came from.

It felt like a gift—or, more than that, like a privilege to be amongst one of the only two people to know Harry that well. And even better, because while Hermione was all but the third, she didn't have the pleasure of seeing Harry with his head tilted back, mouth open and pink and wet, chanting Ron's name like a promise.

He bent his head and pressed kisses along each and every one of those scars, every single mark left on Harry by yet another person who'd hurt him, like it would take away some of the pain. He hoped it would.

And when he was done with Harry's chest and arms, he pulled out and turned Harry onto his front. Sliding back in was easy, smooth, like he belonged that close to Harry, and then he was bending close over Harry's back, kissing the nape of his neck. Harry fit into his arms perfectly like this, so small it sometimes still shocked Ron. Because Harry always seems so _big_, all energy and reckless bravery and so much love, so much _grief_, that he seemed too _much_ to fit into a body this small.

Harry was anything but weak, but when Ron held him like this, he couldn't help but feel like Harry was somehow a little more fragile, a little more in need of protecting. After all, just because Harry _could_ take care of himself, didn't mean he had to.

It didn't mean Ron wouldn't be there anyway to hold him close either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...somehow a lot fluffier than previously expected (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄


	27. Face-Fucking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

They met late, something like an hour after curfew, and didn't really bother to greet one another with more than a brush of hands before they'd gotten into the Room of Requirement. Anybody could be out here, after all, waiting to catch them out if bed after hours. It was only once they'd locked the door that they turned to one another, and Tom dared to kiss Harry. He kissed Harry harder than expected, an urgency in his touch that Harry supposed made sense. It had been far too long since they'd had the chance to meet like this, too busy to spare the time amongst exam preparation and Quidditch finals.

"You got here alright?" Harry asked once they'd separated.

"As always."

Harry nodded, curling his arms closely around Tom so that their chests pressed together. There was a laziness in his actions that came from the busy day and late hour, but even so his touch was eager. He tilted his head up towards Tom, pouting teasingly. "I missed you," he breathed. "Yesterday I saw you sitting on the benches by the greenhouses, and you looked so good. I wanted so badly to just come over and rip your book away and drop onto my knees for you—"

Tom's hold suddenly went firm, and his mouth gentled. "So why didn't you?" He asked.

Harry sighed. "I would have, but I was going to Quidditch practice. And besides, I had Ron with me, or I might have come over anyway."

He pushed Tom away from himself a little, in the process pressing them towards the bed pressed to the far wall. He let his gaze wander over Tom's body, clothed but no less perfect for it. Eventually he had Tom on the bed, and he eyed the way he sat—back straight, shoulders back, perfect posture. His legs were comfortably wide, his hands on the bed beside him, and Harry's eyes were transfixed on the space between Tom's legs.

Just like yesterday. And this time, there were no responsibilities to drag him away.

He dropped to his knees between Tom's, his eyes already half-lidded. Tom didn't move, watching him wordlessly, so Harry grew bold and let himself unzip Tom's trousers. He pulled the fabric aside, and then reached in to grasp Tom's cock.

It was already half hard and filling, pink and warm in his hand. Harry pulled it out, already hungry for it. He settled himself closer between Tom's legs, leaned forward, lips parting, and that's when Tom's fingers slid into his hair. His touch paused Harry immediately, and Harry whined. He tried to pull forward, to mouth at Tom's balls, to tongue at the head, but Tom's touch was firm.

"I've been wanting to see you like this for so long," he said, his voice deep and aroused. "But I've got no patience for your games today. Right now, I just want to take what I want."

He waited a beat, as if to make sure Harry had no protests. When he didn't say a thing, Tom's lips stretched in a sharp, dark grin, and then Harry was being pulled forwards by the hair. Tom pushed his cock at Harry's lips insistently, and when Harry opened his mouth he slid right in with no regard for Harry.

Gleaming, he tilted his head back, eyes closed and mouth open, and Harry couldn't look away. He loved this more than he'd ever admit—being nothing more than a vessel for Tom, made to take Tom's cock and whatever else he'd give Harry. Tom was heavy in his mouth, the scent and taste of him overwhelming, until Harry felt lost in his sheer presence. He was fucking Harry's face now, pushing deep enough that Harry's throat felt sore with the size of him, and his jaw ached from holding his mouth so open.

And still Harry didn't feel like he had enough. He wanted Tom to fuck his mouth and throat so hard that Harry would hear it whenever he spoke tomorrow. He wanted Tom to please himself using Harry's body, and afterwards kiss him and tell him how well he'd done.

"Merlin, you're so pretty with your mouth around my cock like that," Tom was saying. He was usually so prim and proper, even when he was cruel, so hearing him say such filthy things made Harry feel unbearably warm.

It was flattering, to know he had this effect on Tom.

His fingers were still threaded into Harry's hair, and every time he pulled at the curls, it went straight to Harry's cock. He wanted to touch himself, and a part of him considered just reaching in and taking himself in hand. But Tom hadn't told him to, and Harry didn't really want to think about anything but the way his cock pushed at Harry's tongue.

"You're so good to me, darling, so perfect," Tom told him. Harry swore he needed nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly there ;-;
> 
> I'm just wondering what to do for day 31 OwO


	28. Exhibitionism/Voyeurism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

It had been a long day, and Tom was clearly exhausted. It was the only reason why he'd drop off like that on a train, when usually he was much more aware of his surroundings. Harry felt tired too, but it was the kind of tired where he felt it in his bones, and not in his eyes.

Tom had been so busy lately. Harry couldn't help but feel a little neglected, even as he watched the soft flutter of Tom's eyelashes, the gentle up-down of his chest. He knew Tom couldn't help it, and felt a find sort of concern for him when he saw how tired Tom obviously was—he was never really the sort to let himself be so vulnerable in public, and it was a testament to his exhaustion that he'd let himself drift off like that, even with Harry there.

But Harry hadn't been fucked in so long, and it was weighing on his mind almost constantly. Even now, when he didn't really feel the desire to move, he found he _did_ have the desire to touch Tom.

Letting his head fall back, he took a long, slow look at his surroundings. There was an older man a few seats down on the opposite row, and a young woman a few rows in front of them. As Harry watched, a third man came in from the toilets and walked along the aisle to somewhere behind Harry and Tom's seats. Harry listened as he picked up a newspaper, the crinkle loud in the silent traincar

Nobody was paying attention.

His eyes fell down to the space between Tom's legs. Surely it wouldn't really disturb Tom? Harry would be doing all the work, after all, and it really _had_ been so long.

It felt like he contemplated the idea forever, turning it over in his mind like it'd reveal something new to discourage him, or otherwise motivate him. But the thought of going down on Tom like this was seeming more and more attractive by the second, and though that might just be the lack of sleep, Harry was finding it hard to resist.

Eventually, starting at Tom's crotch, he just have in. He took a final look and, making sure nobody was looking in his direction, bent down over Tom's lap.

His mouth went to Tom's clothed cock, and he thought about just pressing into it like that. He thought about moving his lips over where Tom's cock was and feeling it go stiff through the trousers, but the heat that shot through his belly made him suddenly eager, and Harry couldn't stop himself.

He sat up, adjusting himself so he was more comfortable, and unzipped Tom's trousers. Tom's cock was still soft, but it only took a few practiced touches for him to start to harden. Harry knew Tom, after all, knew exactly what felt good, what turned him to mush. He rubbed his palm cover the shaft of Tom's cock, and then bent down again to take it into his mouth.

He took his sweet time, bobbing his head slowly in just the head, then a little more, and a little more. His mouth felt wet, so wet that Harry wondered if he wasn't making a mess. But there was something incredibly hot about the evidence he was leaving. The push of his mouth down Tom's cock made filthy noises, and Harry wondered if the other people in the train could hear. He imagined them realising, with a sudden shock, that someone was having sex so indecently, so close, and it only made him want more of Tom.

But just as he rose again, wanting to take a breath, Tom's hand came down with terrifying speed and held him down. Harry hadn't even realised he was awake, hadn't heard his breathing change or felt his hands move, so his first reaction was to struggle against Tom's hold. But his touch was familiar and strong, and he pushed Harry down on his cock so confidently that Harry felt powerless to disobey.

So he let Tom press him down, further and further until he felt Tom in his throat, his nose tight against Tom's hip. He was so deep, so heavy, and still Harry could think of nothing but the fact that they were in public. A ticket officer could come in at any moment, he thought vaguely. It was unlikely, of course, but still a possibility. Or the man behind them could get up to use the toilet again, and see Harry on Tom's cock as he walked past.

What would he do? What would any of them do, if they realised what Harry was doing? Possibly shout, demand they stop, but Harry liked to imagine that Tom just _wouldn't_. He'd fuck Harry's mouth and look the strangers straight in the eyes as he did, shameless when it came to his own pleasure.

It should be humiliating, but it wasn't. He'd never felt like he belonged to Tom more than he did in those fantasies, Tom making it obvious who Harry belonged to without a shred of embarrassment.

Harry relaxed into Tom's touch, let him do with Harry as he pleased, and closed his eyes. The constant rumbling of the moving train became a background to the way Tom tasted, reminding him constantly that they weren't alone.


	29. Gags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tony Stark/Peter Parker

Peter was a screamer. It was one of the things Tony loved about him, about having sex with him. Peter always made the most delicious sounds, let himself go with true abandon, and Tony was not shy to admit that it was a hell of an ego boost to see Peter react to him like that.

But there was something about controlling Peter's voice that got him going. Because Peter wasn't shy about demanding what he wanted from Tony. It took a while to train into him, to make him feel confident enough in their relationship and in sex that Peter would readily ask for what he wanted from Tony, but now he'd do exactly that and not blink twice.

And Tony enjoyed that, loved giving Peter exactly what he asked for, but sometimes he just wanted to just make Peter take what he gave, no complaints or pleading to speak of, and that's where the gag came in.

Peter's mouth was stretched wide over the ball of the gag, his lips pink and wet. No doubt his jaw was aching, Tony thought fondly, and he kissed Peter's chin for it. But mostly he just enjoyed how he could fuck Peter slow like this, so gentle that Peter just couldn't get enough friction to come. They'd been at this for hours, Tony thrusting his hips in slow circles against Peter's open, wet arse, keeping him so keyed up that, even if Peter could speak, it would probably all be incoherent by now.

He took the time to run his hands across Peter's body, his muscles and soft skin, pointing out every mole and freckle like he was memorising them. He bent down again, skating his lips across the hard edge of Peter's collarbone, along until he reached the shoulder. There he let himself bite at Peter's skin, hard enough to leave a mark.

With Peter's healing factor, most of the hickeys and marks Tony left on Peter would fade fairly quickly. He worked extra hard on this one, hoping he'd see it again whenever they next saw one another. Hopefully it wouldn't be too long this time, but one never knew with their schedules bring what they were.

Peter was whining, pushing his arse down into Tony's cock eagerly. Tony could hear the high moan of his voice even through the gag, and couldn't deny the way it went straight to his cock. He straightened up again, put his hand on Peter's abdomen, and started rolling his hips a little faster. He was near orgasm too, felt flushed and electric with the way he'd kept it so close and so constant, but he knew it was worse for Peter. Because Tony hadn't bothered holding back—he'd done everything he knew would drive Peter mad. Even now his fingers were wrapping around Peter's neck, squeezing just a tiny bit with every thrust of his hips.

Peters pulse felt lighting-fast under his palm. He spread his legs wider, like it would make Tony fuck him faster, and closed his eyes. There was wetness all along his eyelashes, and it made the points all shiny and sparkly in the waning sunlight. Tony thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful.

Bending, he kissed Peter on the mouth over the gag, and then gripped his hips with both hands. It didn't take long before Peter was arching his back and coming, his featured going slack like he'd passed out or something. Still Tony kept going, kept fucking through Peter's orgasm. And when Peter was done he fucked him through his own orgasm, until Peter was crying out wordlessly at the overwhelming sensation of it, and shuddering with every push of Tony's hips.

Peter didn't say anything when Tony removed the gag. He merely tilted his head up, eyes pleading silently, and Tony gave in and kissed him for the first time that afternoon.

He never could resist those eyes.


	30. Hate Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one day left to go!!! We're nearly there folks.
> 
> This is low-key for cy for helping me with today's prompt (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

He'd planned his visit for when he was sure Tom would be at work. Tom was fastidious about his job—almost obsessive, Harry would say, to the point that he often came home later and later. It was one of the many things they fought about, and by the time Harry had decided to leave, Tom was leaving at six and coming home sometime after nine nearly every day.

He shook the thought out of his head, deciding not to dwell on what couldn't be changed, and entered the house. It was quiet inside. Harry walked through to the kitchen, and noticed that there were already a number of unwashed mugs and empty boxes of take-out lining the counter. He smiled grimly—somehow he wasn't surprised that Tom had resorted to coffee and fast food without Harry there to take care of him.

He wondered if Tom was already sorry.

Sighing, he turned and walked up the stairs, intent on the bedroom. He'd only packed a couple of changes of clothes when he'd left a week ago, and there was only so often he could borrow Ron's clothes without it getting annoying. Besides, they were all too long on him—Harry could count on two hands the number of times he'd tripped over the pyjama leg on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

On the way, he grabbed his empty bag from the hallway closet, and he already had it unzipped by the time he'd reached the bedroom door. Harry was determined to be in and out as quickly as possible. Even if Tom probably wouldn't be back for a number of hours, Harry didn't want to be in the house any longer than he absolutely had to.

So focused was he on his goal, that he'd already emptied out one of his drawers and started on the second by the time he realised he wasn't alone. He saw something move from the corner of his eye, and when he turned, there was Tom's reflection in the wardrobe mirrors, sitting on the bed, watching him silently.

He turned slowly, and then just stared at Tom for a moment. "What are you doing here?" He asked eventually, his voice deadpan.

"I think the more appropriate question would be, what are _you_ doing here."

He was dressed in his office clothes, his collar still done up to the top button even though it was boiling and he was at home. He looked incredibly well put together, completely unlike what Harry had imagined—or fantasised—after seeing the mess downstairs.

He looked attractive, and Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted to kiss him or punch him in his stupid, smug face.

He swallowed hard, and turned back to his packing. "I just came to get a few things," he replied. "I'll be out of your hair soon enough."

A beat, and then, "Stay."

"No." Harry didn't even spare him a glance, and then Tom was on him. He'd gotten up and strode over to before Harry had even realised Tom was moving, and tore the bag from his grasp.

"What the fuck?" Harry exclaimed, rearing back. His voice was inappropriately loud, but Tom always made him burn hotter than anything else. Harry used to say that Tom brought out the best in him. Unfortunately, he had soon realised it was more like the worst.

"I've been waiting here for _hours_," Tom hissed at him. His eyes had gone dark, and he was doing that thing where he loomed over Harry to try and intimidate him. It might have worked, because Tom was quite a bit taller than Harry, except that Harry had seen all of Tom's tricks and really didn't have the patience for any of them.

"Did you even go to work today?" Harry asked incredulously.

Tom growled a little. "_No_," he exclaimed, and sounded so put out that Harry had to laugh.

"God, I can't deal with you right now."

"Well unfortunately, you'll have to." Tom's hand came down on Harry's bicep, his grip tighter than was comfortable.

Harry looked at it slowly, then up at Tom. "Let go," he said quietly. Tom refused, and Harry reached up to grab Tom's wrist. "Let. _Go_."

Tom didn't, and then they were rolling on the floor, arms locked around each other, their legs tangled. Tom's breath was hot and loud against his face as he tried to get Harry in a hold, but even though he was taller and heavier, he spent all of his time behind a goddamn desk. It didn't take long before he was on his back under Harry, his face red from exertion, his perfect hair in disarray. He blinked down at Tom, and then they were kissing, and Harry had his hands down Tom's trousers. It was like there was a fire inside Harry—he didn't even take the time to open himself up properly before he was sliding down on Tom's cock. He didn't wait to adjust to the ache, but started fucking himself fast.

Tom groaned, letting himself go limp under Harry's hold. "My chest hurts, you bastard," he complained. Harry smirked at him, and reached down to press his fingers into the bruise he'd left on Tom's pec, smiling wider when Tom cursed.

"Maybe you shouldn't have picked a fight," he said. Tom glared at him, and then twisted his hips so suddenly that it upset Harry's balance. Before he knew it, Tom was holding his hands up above his hands and driving his cock into Harry even harder.

Harry couldn't help the moan that escaped. He arched his back, tried to shift himself so he'd be on top again, but Tom was more vigilant than him. He held Harry firm, his face unbearably smug as he bent close.

"I hate you," Harry whispered, unprompted. "Why do you have to be so fucking attractive?"

Tom's mouth twisted oddly, but he didn't look surprised. "Yeah, I'm not so fond of you either, sweetheart," he replied, his voice heavy with sarcasm. And then, "Just shut the hell up and kiss me."

So Harry shut up and kissed him.


	31. Overstimulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

"Tom, Tom," Harry panted. "Let me touch you."

They were pressed together tightly in an alcove somewhere in the east of the third floor where nobody really went. Harry had his fingers hooked in the waistband of Tom's trousers already, his mouth eager and hungry, and then Tom went stiff.

It was such a jarring change from Tom's passionate, enthusiastic self that Harry immediately noticed. He stopped and pulled back to look Tom in the face worriedly. His boyfriend had the strangest expression on his face—if Harry didn't know better he might have called it shy, or maybe nervous, but Tom was never anything except loudly confident. He was the sort to predict how everything would go, weeks or even months before it actually happened, and he was so good at being right that nothing really surprised him.

And yet he was looking at Harry now, and not even meeting his gaze—his eyes were stuck somewhere around Harry's chin, like he couldn't actually face him right now. It made concern rise in Harry's chest Harry, and it made him feel incredibly self-conscious.

Had he done something wrong?

But when he tried to pull completely back from Tom, his hand came to keep Harry's where it was still folded into his trousers. His hold was warm and dry and sure in a way his face wasn't, but even so Tom seemed determined.

"I—” his voice broke, and Tom flushed a surprisingly adorable shade of red. "I haven't done anything like this before."

Harry stared uncomprehendingly. He searched Tom's face for any sign that he was joking, but Tom was as serious as ever.

"Tom," he asked gently. "Are you a virgin?”

There was a long pause, and then Tom nodded his head ever so slightly. Harry felt a grin spread across his face, not just because it was unexpected, and not even because, for once, he was more experienced than Tom at something. No, he was grinning because nobody had ever touched Tom before, nobody had seen him on the brink of orgasm, and if Harry had anything to say about it, nobody else ever would. He was grinning because he'd be the first person to touch Tom, he'd take Tom's _virginity_, and it felt like an opportunity to cement himself in Tom's life in a way he hadn't yet.

Harry would make sure that Tom would never be able to forget him, not even if he tried.

He slid closer again, until their chests were together and the back of his hand lay flat against Tom's sternum. "Let me touch you," he said again, softer, and this time Tom let him.

His cock was already hard and leaking, and Tom's hands went to Harry's waist almost immediately. Like he was trying to ground himself. Harry liked that he was already having this affect on Tom. He curled his fingers tight around the shape of Tom's cock, and pulled. And then again, and again, the movement becoming longer and slicker with every stroke of his palm against Tom's sex. Tom was bent so close to his ear that Harry could hear the smallest moans and grunts that escaped his lips. It only egged him on.

And then, far earlier than Harry had expected, Tom was tensing and bucking up into Harry's hand and coming. Harry's hand stoked for a moment, and then he looked up at Tom. "Tom, do you masturbate?" He asked rather candidly.

Tom mouth twisted in embarrassment. "Of course," he replied, vexed. "I'm _sixteen_, Harry."

Harry cocked his head to the side, and then, "Do you ever hold back?"

"Why would I do that?" Tom replied incredulously. "Surely it's just more efficient to—"

Harry couldn't help himself—he started laughing. It was quiet, but nonetheless it made Tom reach down to grab Harry's arse and squeeze.

"What?" He demanded, and he looked so put out that Harry couldn't help but lean up and press a kiss against his mouth.

"You hold back to make yourself last longer," he said, and started moving his hands again. "Don't worry, I'll help you."

Tom came much more quickly the second time, wrapping his arms tight around Harry and shuddering through his orgasm like that. This time, Harry didn't stop, but kept stroking Tom's cock even past his orgasm. Eventually it started to become too much, because Tom started gasping and thrusting his hips like it was all too much for him, like he couldn't stand the sensation anymore.

"I can't—" he moaned, but Harry just curled tighter into Tom.

"I'm just trying to help you, Tom."

His hand slowed, and Tom relaxed like he thought Harry would stop. But before he knew it, Harry was on his knees and pulling Tom's trousers to his ankles, and then he had Tom's cock in his mouth. One of Tom's hands went to the wall for balance, and the other dropped immediately to Harry's hair. He pulled at the strands just hard enough that that Harry felt it, like he thought it'd stop Harry. But the slight edge of pain just made Harry hotter, and it made him take Tom deeper into his mouth.

The stone floor was hell on his knees. Any other time, Harry might have complained, or at least taken the time to put a jacket or something under them. But this was the first time he'd put his mouth on Tom, and it was nothing like the times he'd gone down on other boys. Tom's moans had gone from pleas for more to demand and praise, and it was making Harry feel proud and warm in a way he hadn't with anyone else.

"You're so good," Tom was groaning, "better than I could have ever imagined." And Harry could feel the weakness in his knees, the way his mouth on Tom's cock overstimulated Tom's already too-sensitive cock. But he didn't pause, wanted to see Tom absolutely lust in Harry and Harry's touch, wanted to ruin Tom for anyone else.

It was a novel feeling, how possessive he felt of Tom. Usually it was Tom demanding Harry focus on him, Tom making sure that he was Harry's priority, and not the other way around. But seeing Tom like this, his eyes clenched and his mouth open as he came, made Harry want to covet the moment like it was a secret others might steal from him.

He sucked on Tom's cock until he was coming, and then let him collapse into the floor before he climbed into Tom's lap. Tom's eyes went wide, an almost pained expression arising in his face. Harry smirked, and rolled his hips down on Tom's spent cock, relishing on the way Tom gasped his name.

"Oh, you thought we were done?" He asked, faux sympathetic. "I'm going to wring you out until you pass out, Tom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! Happy Halloween, and thank you to everyone who took the time to leave comments! They're much appreciated ❤️


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